Do You Really Want To Know?
by Batmanskipper
Summary: Despite his sheltered life, Private still has a lot of unanswered questions. Why is everyone afraid of his guardian, Kowalski? Who is Uncle Rico, and why does everyone refuse to talk about him? Who are the Penguins? Private finally gets the courage to ask these questions, but does he really want to know the answer… Loosely based around the Barry Manilow song Copacabana.
1. Chapter 1

**June 5****th****1969**

"See you at the club later tonight, Cupid?" Will Grant, affectionately called Private by friends blushed slightly as he stepped into his car.

"Sorry, Private," the girl replied, "I'd love to come with you, but my advisor's promised to help me with my speech."

"It doesn't have to be perfect, you've won the prize." Private continued to plead.

"I've won the goddamn Grant criminology prize, of course it has to be perfect," Cupid looked down into the puppy dog eyes that normally would convince her to do anything, "Private, I have to give this speech in front of the whole university, and your uncle…"

"Uncle K'walski won't mind."

"Between you and me, he scares the heck out of me. I really don't want to mess up."

"Are you sure I can't convince you to come?"

"Look, it's sweet of you to me to invite me, but… Well, I'll see you in class tomorrow."

With that a very disheartened Private climbed into the bright red sports car Kowalski had bought him for his sixteenth birthday, and sped off in the direction of the Copacabana nightclub where he would be meeting his best friend Manfridi and a friend of his, Johnson.

* * *

"You can take the night off, Jenkins," Private called down from his room.

"Are you quite sure, sir?" the butler questioned, standing at the foot of the grand staircase.

"Yes, I don't think uncle Kowalski's going to be back before tomorrow," Private called back, "Where did he say he'd gone?"

"Chicago, sir."

"Chicago?" there was a pause as Private digested this, "Did he go there to see uncle Rico?"

Immediately Private regretted asking this particular question, almost as much as Jenkins seemed unwilling to answer. His uncle Rico was one of a few taboo subjects, along with the identity of his mother. In fact, he'd only ever seen the man once when he was very young. He'd arrived at the mansion, and the only reason Private had paid any notice was that when Jenkins went to answer the door Kowalski had sent him away and answered himself. Almost immediately, the two men had begun to argue, something about penguins, and a few seconds later the man left.

"I don't think I am at liberty to discuss that, sir." Jenkins answered cautiously, and had Private not been in his room, he would have seen the cautious way in which the butler glanced around before answering, "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes Jenkins. That will be all." Private answered. His gloomy mood continued until he opened his wardrobe, and pushed aside the sombre suits that hid the outfit. At this the boy grinned like a child, as he admired it. He knew he'd get quite the shouting at if Kowalski were to see him, along with a speech who's central point would be: "If your father lived to see the way you dress these days he'd have slapped you into next month". Somehow Kowalski always found out if he was up to something, like "dressing like one of those damn hippies" even if he was miles away from New York. To Private and many other people Kowalski had not only eyes in the back of his head, but covering every inch of the planet. Well, he could try.

Having clad the attire, Private cautiously checked that Jenkins was busy with his Spinoza in the pantry, before quietly sneaking out the door and back towards the car.

* * *

"Watch where you're driving, buster!" the pedestrian shouted as he picked himself up from the ground, where he'd only just dived clear of being run over.

"Hey, you!" the nearby officer shouted, blowing his whistle, "Pull over!" Private did as he was instructed watching as the officer ran up to the car, "I don't know if you're blind or somethin' but that was a red light!"

"Why, is that a problem, officer?" Private questioned with honest innocence.

"_Is that a problem, officer?_" the man mocked, "Show me your license kid, that is, if you even have one."

"Alright." Private handed over the required registration. Suddenly the officer's expression changed. Private was kind of expecting that. It always happened when he told people his name.

"Sorry Mr Grant," the officer stuttered, white as a sheet, "You go on and have a nice day."

* * *

"So what do you think of New York, Johnson?" Manfredi asked shouting over the music being blasted from the speakers. Manfridi had picked up the habit of calling friends by their last names when he was in England. The man opposite him, whom he'd called Johnson, looked up from his drink.

"It's pretty big," Johnson replied, "I guess it seems normal to you 'cause you've lived here since you were a kid."

"I suppose you do get used to it," Manfridi looked at his watch, "Private's late." He looked back at Johnson, who was staring across the bar at a woman dressed in a faux grass skirt with a red bodice, of an old fashioned cut. She had long brown hair, starting to grey, pinned up and decorated with faded yellow feathers. She looked in her late forties, her body very much abused by constant drinking, but it was obvious that in her youth she was beautiful. She was drunk out of her mind, though she still managed to remain about as graceful as was possible when that drunk.

"Who's she?" Johnson asked. The unusual clothing had caught his attention. She was dressed like one of the old showgirls that used to perform at the 'Cabana back in the fifties.

Immediately the smile on Manfridi's face was replaced with a look of pity.

"That's Lola. She used to work here," Manfredi replied, "It's actually a bit of a sad story."

"Is that why she's…?" Johnson made a motion like he was drinking from a bottle. Manfridi nodded.

"Yeah, rumour is that she's been like that since the incident."

"What's 'the incident'?" Johnson asked. Manfridi looked at him incredulously.

"You haven't heard the story?"

"I got off the plane last week."

"Anyway the story goes like this: Lola was the star of the show back in the fifties. She fell in love with this guy, Timmy or something. He was the bartender here. Anyway, one day one of the Penguins turned up at the place…"

"Penguins?" A man behind him interrupted. Manfridi turned around.

"Hey, Private. Private, this is Johnson," Manfridi introduced, "Johnson, this is William Grant."

"Call me Private." The newcomer offered, extending his hand. For a moment Johnson paused, as indeed his demeanour had changed at the mention of the name.

"Nice to meet you," the two men shook hands, Johnson beginning to relax, "Are you English or something?" Johnson asked, noticing the accent.

"No, me and Manfridi spent a couple of years at boarding school there. I picked up the accent and, well people liked it, so I kept it. So what were you two talking about?"

"The incident." Manfridi replied.

"Oh, yeah. I heard you mention something. The Penguins was it? Weren't they a band?"

"No I meant the gang." Manfridi corrected in a quieter voice. Private's brow furrowed.

"I actually don't know much about them." Private had read the occasional newspaper article, but Kowalski disapproved of him reading about them.

"Well, I was just about to explain to Johnson. Like I said the Penguins are a gang. More like _The_ Gang. New York's never seen anything like them."

"I knew _that_." Johnson replied.

"Anyway, back in the fifties, one of them came in here, and started to hit on Lola. Well, that didn't sit well with her boyfriend. There was a fight or something, and he ended up being shot. The penguin wasn't even asked for a statement, the police brushed it off as self-defence. Yeah right."

"Wow, harsh." Private muttered. Johnson looked at him sideways as if this was some kind of hypocritical remark. Manfridi immediately began to shake his head, prompting Johnson to change his expression before Private looked up.

"Well, they say she gets a manila envelope from Chicago every year with $50,000 in it. Still, some consolation prize."

"But money doesn't do nothin' for Lola but drink," Private turned around. It was the bar tender who'd spoken, "She's never been the same since that day, and we've all been doin' all we can for her." The bartender was a fairly short, slightly heavy man. He had grey hair, that was once black, and wore a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, "Worked here thirty years, and I've never seen anything like what happened."

"You were there?" Private asked.

"You bet I was. It was about… Hm… just under 15 years ago? Yes, I was the choreographer back then. Anyway, it was just like your friend said, but the bartenders name was Tony, not Timmy. Nice fellow."

"Can you tell me about the Penguins?" Private asked with barely disguised enthusiasm.

"Well…" he looked about cautiously, "The Penguins turned up about thirty years ago, seemingly out of nowhere. All we knew, was they used to be some kind of Special Forces team. Anyway, they took over this town like wildfire. They still own it…"

"Good golly is that…" Johnson whispered before Manfridi could silence him, only seconds before Private felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"That's enough, Maurice." Kowalski ordered.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean…" Maurice stuttered backing off to serve another customer.

"Private," as immediately as the man's attention shifted, "if your father had lived to see the way you kids dress these days …"

"I know, he would have slapped me into next month," Private interrupted. Kowalski stared at him for a few seconds. Private never interrupted him. In fact, on the boy's face was an expression he had never seen before except on the boy's father, one of fierce determination, as well as reckless disregard for all else, "I always wondered why people always do as you say." This wasn't the first time Private had enquired about the Penguins only to be blocked by Kowalski. He wasn't going to allow this to end similarly.

"Private…" Kowalski warned. Maurice turned around, with a similar fire in his eyes.

"The boy has a right to know what happened to 'im." Maurice looked Kowalski in the eye. Kowalski continued the cold glare he was well known for making several of the other customers shrink back, but Maurice did not relent.

Kowalski sighed.

"Well, I guess you're old enough to know, or at least work it out."

Kowalski led Private to a table near the back of the room. He wasn't afraid of anyone overhearing them. No one would dare try and record them. He then asked with deadly seriousness:

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, already." Private snapped.

"Alright," Kowalski seemed almost unsure of how he should begin, "You were wondering who the Penguins are. Well, I can tell you first hand, since I'm one of them, well, the only one left," Private turned white as a sheet. Maybe he didn't want to know, "To answer your second query, though you have probably guessed based on my previous statement, people always listen to me because I can have them killed, or ruined if I'm so much as annoyed with them," Kowalski searched Private's expression, though it was by no means hidden how he was taking the news, "You've undoubtedly wondered why you were spontaneously sent off to England with Manfredi, it was because a business rival was trying to get to me through you. I had no choice but to send you away." There was something in his tone that told Private he wasn't joking.

"How… that's horrible…" Private stuttered. He could think of no other word in his vocabulary to describe this. Kowalski however, seemed to have paused, as if considering an angle that had previously never occurred to him.

"I guess I am pretty horrible." Kowalski replied, as if accepting an improbable result from an experiment, "Well, I'll start from the beginning."


	2. Chapter 2

**November 8****th**** 1949**

Agent Nigel paced the conference room. In a few moments, the room would be filled with his superiors, to whom he would have to justify his frankly, crazy, proposal.

"Sir, your visitors are here." The intercom announced. Nigel took a deep breath, straitened his tie, then pressed the speak button.

"Thank you Della. Show them in." He replied as he fixed the papers on his desk for what was probably the millionth time.

The door opened.

"This way, gentlemen," His secretary, Della, held the door open for the twelve men to enter. Each man took a seat at the table. Most of them wore dark suits, though one or two wore a military uniform. Those were the ones to be most afraid of. Nigel stood up in front of the group. For a few seconds there was silence, while he gathered the courage to open his mouth.

"Gentlemen…" Nigel began to announce. He turned over the first page on the pile of papers in front of his place at the long mahogany table. A man at the other end of the table, wearing a dark blue suit, interrupted:

"Nigel, I've read your file, and you've always had remarkable results, but this operation is positively ludicrous," The man argued. Nigel swallowed uncomfortably.

"I know, but so far all the conventional methods have failed," Nigel switched on the projector and slid in the first glass slide. A graph appeared on the opposite wall, "Gentlemen, if you look at the crime rate, you'll see what I mean."

"So we throw money at the police." Another man objected.

"We've done that. Nobody's brave enough to face up to the mobs. Certainly not the Rockhoppers," Nigel turned around, his face set in firm determination, "We need another approach."

"So you think you'll succeed where millions of dollars and thousands of police have failed, with a team of four men?" the first man asked sceptically.

"Let me explain my plan. The objective of Operation: Join and Destroy, is to take out 97% of organised crime in New York City, all in one blow." There was a low murmur about the room.

"Impossible…"

"Can't be done…"

"The man's finally lost it…" Nigel cleared his throat, regaining the room's attention.

"I know it sounds crazy. Hell, I thought it was crazy but it's the only thing we haven't tried that could work. The plan is simple: we are going to set up these four men with false records, marking them as dangerous criminals. We are then going to set up a bank heist for them to pull off, thus giving them capital, then set them up as a gang. It might take a few years, but they will eventually work their way up to the top. Now, what do the Rockhoppers do when they see a possible competitor? They try to buy them out. So, our 'gang' joins the biggest gang in New York."

"And now we have four inside men. I'm pretty sure there's less expensive ways of doing that." A man in a uniform pointed out.

"I'm not finished. Rockgut's getting old. In a couple of years, he's going to have to name a successor. Now, if we play our cards right, one of our team should be picked. Can you imagine what we could do if we ran the mob? We could control crime, or we could order our men to set things up so the whole thing collapses on itself."

"And you think this team will be able to do that?" A man to Nigel's right argued.

"Yes."

"That's crazy!" Nigel pressed the speak button on his intercom.

"Della, send in the team," Nigel stood up, "I think you'll disagree once you meet them." As if on cue, the door opened and four men walked in. The first was fairly short relative to the rest, though quite muscular, wearing an immaculate uniform that identified him as a captain. His black hair was cut short, in a conservative, though not unfashionable style and his eyes betrayed a natural confidence despite the situation, which would make any person realise, even if unaware of his rank, that he was the leader.

The next was quite tall, about six foot five, wearing a lieutenant's uniform that was though not outright messy, nowhere near as immaculate as his captain's. Like his superior, he had black hair, and blue eyes, though he and the captain were not related. His fingers were covered with ink and chemical stains which betrayed his specialty, namely, the sciences.

The third was a sergeant. He was about six foot one, his uniform bordering on unacceptably messy, with his shocking red hair in a similar state. He may have been in a room full of his superiors, but you'd never know it by the carefree way he strolled into the room. However, a deep scar running down the side of his face and across his mouth was evidence that times might not always have been so easy. There was also something about his expression, nothing you could put your finger on unless he smiled, that was unnerving. The final unusual detail was a camouflage coloured backpack slung over his left shoulder.

The fourth and last member entered. He was a Private, smartly dressed, though not as crisp as his leader. He looked young, about seventeen, but was actually older, though not by much, and you would often be told by the ladies he met that he was probably the most adorable person on the planet. His blond hair, was slightly wavy and styled like a movie star's, and his uniform had been tailored to a more fashionable cut. All in all, he was a bit of a dandy, which was one of the reasons Nigel was almost wincing as his nephew walked in. How many times had he told him messing with the uniform was against regulation?

"This is the team who would carry out the operation. I can provide you with complete dossiers on all of them, but I'll give you a brief overview. Their leader, Captain Grant, has nine years' experience military experience, five of which in covert operations. That may not seem like much, but he was responsible for the destruction of the entire RAT organisation, in a similar manor to the method I am proposing, with absolutely no evidence of our involvement

"Lieutenant Kowalski is solely responsible for the creation of the successful bio weapon, Project: STANK. He also has four years field experience, one in covert operations. He is well known for his ability to adapt plans to new situations with only seconds warning, though his plans rarely need adjusting as his contingency plans cover most complications.

"Sergeant Rico is an expert with almost all conventional and unconventional weapons, specializing in explosives. His record before and with the team is immaculate. Even unarmed, he is still the most formidable member of the team apart from Captain Grant.

"Private Jones is a bit of an unusual case as he was recruited directly into the team after he saved Lieutenant Kowalski's life when the team's unit was ambushed during a mission in England. He was only fifteen at the time. Despite regulations he stayed with the team, having a stellar career." The room collapsed into a disorderly din.

"Preposterous."

"Wouldn't be allowed."

"Well it bloody well was!" Nigel snapped in reply. He hated pencil pushers. What did they know of missions like this? Yet they always managed to get themselves in charge of them.

"Gentlemen!" a uniformed man at the head of the table, who before this point had said nothing, banged his fist against the table. The room fell silent, "I give it the go ahead. I've known Agent Nigel twenty years, and he's ordered a lot of operations almost as crazy as this one and he's pulled off every single one with flying colours." The rest of the room stared at the man. He outranked every one of them by far, so at the end of the day, it was his decision. The man looked Nigel in the eye, "Do you think they can do it?"

"Yes sir." Nigel replied, without hesitation. The plan might be crazy, but he did believe in it.

"Then that's good enough for me. Meeting adjourned."

* * *

**January 8th 1950**

"Well, Kowalski, how are we doing so far?" Skipper asked leaning back in one of the few chairs in the sparsely decorated room. Kowalski pulled out a clipboard, various calculations scribbled about the pages.

"Well, we now control approximately 10.6734% of all organised crime in New York, 11.9843% in The Zoo. We have run three competitors out of business and incorporated five…"

"Tell me something I don't know," Skipper complained. He really hated this mission, "Now, one of the main criteria in Rockgut's definition of threat is revenue, not so much market share, so how are we doing on that front?"

"About that, we believe that Julian is holding back payment, giving the excuse of a lack of funds, bordering on bankruptcy. However, considering the fact that he recently hired three new dancers, at an above average salary, we think this is unlikely."

"Options?"

"I suggest that one of us goes undercover in the establishment to discover if this is true. If it is, then we should arrange with Nigel for them to receive some kind of tax break, or other financial assistance not on our books. When the Cabana was operating as usual, its protection payments made up a decent percentage of our revenue."

"Mah' mission!" Rico jumped up from his seat excitedly.

"I don't suppose I could have the mission, Skippah?" Private asked more politely, giving Skipper the puppy dog look. None of them had been on a proper mission in several months, and they were getting bored of simply intimidating underworld scum. Skipper rolled his eyes.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow."

* * *

**January 9th 1950**

Skipper woke up at three in the morning, and climbed out of bed, careful not to make any noise. The HQ, as they'd started to call it, an apartment in a fairly recently abandoned building, wasn't particularly soundproof. He quickly threw on a suit and picked up the knapsack he had packed the night before. He had already told Kowalski he was doing this as a solo mission, but he hadn't wanted to tell Rico he was leaving. Despite his total disregard for human life, the man got pretty upset whenever he left. Skipper opened the door, wincing at the loud creak it made. He heard someone stir. Skipper froze, waited about thirty seconds, then slipped out and shut the door behind him.

Skipper had stopped at one of the temporary bases he'd insisted the team set up to catch a few more hours of sleep before the job interview. That was when he looked at his watch. It had taken him longer than expected to get there, and it wasn't worth going back to sleep. Skipper sighed; undercover work was nowhere near as glamorous as the pictures described. It was a lot of sleep loss. Skipper walked into the kitchen and began to make himself a cup of coffee. He couldn't complete his 'transformation' half asleep.

Skipper looked in the mirror. He'd changed out of his customary dark, crisp suit and into a lighter, cheaper, and less conservative one. He'd also dyed his hair blond, and ruffled it a little. He then corrected his posture, slouching a bit to take a few inches off his height. He revised his background story. His name was Tony Knight. He was a starving actor. He had experience and references (forged by Kowalski, of course) and was willing to work for an insanely low sum. He figured he had a pretty good shot at getting the job.

* * *

Julian looked him up and down. Skipper fought back the urge to smack the annoying man across the face. Julian Kingston was tall and lanky, in a fashionably cut light grey suit, far too expensive for his profession. His hair was white blond, in the right lighting, grey, and not particularly orderly. Skipper was seated at one of the empty tables in the Copa Cabana nightclub. It was 1000.

"From the top, ladies." A voice behind him ordered. Once again, the same song that had been repeated most of the interview started again. This time they got almost half way through the song before the perfectionist choreographer stopped them, "No, no, no. I need more energy. The audience would be falling asleep at this point! Now, the timing is 1, 2, 3 _and _4." the song started again. Skipper was beginning to think taking this particular solo mission wasn't such a good idea.

"I am giving you de job." Julian finally announced. Too late to turn back now, "Serve your king – that is me in case you were wondering – well." It was all Skipper could do not to laugh. So the rumours about him were true. He was mad, though those rumours also said he was able to throw one damn good party, "Maurice!" Skipper looked behind him.

"Your majesty, I'm in the middle of a number!" the choreographer complained. Maurice was shorter than Julian, and definitely heavier. He wore a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, with black slacks. His hair was a greyish black, and like his 'king', looked like he spent his spare time sticking his fingers in electric sockets.

"Maurice, I am requesting you to show de new guy around."

"Your majesty!"

"Do not be getting me angry!" Julian threatened. Maurice sighed.

"Alright girls, take five," he called over his shoulder to the chorus of dancers rehearsing on the stage before walking towards the 'new guy'. Maurice walked past him to the other side of the room towards the bar, motioning for Skipper to follow, "Right, I'm Maurice, I'm the choreographer here. I'm guessing you're the new bartender?"

"Yeah. Name's Tony, Tony Knight." Skipper replied.

"Lemme guess, you're an actor?" Maurice smirked.

"How'd ya…?" Skipper asked pretending to be stunned, though he was a bit more nervous. Maybe he was working for the Space Squids…

"Anyone crazy enough to take a job here has to be an actor. Anyway, here's where you're gonna be working. You'll start at 8pm, and end at 4am…"


	3. Chapter 3

**January 12****th**** 1950**

"I say, K'walski, where are you going?" Private asked. Kowalski turned around. He was out of character, wearing a freshly pressed uniform, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"To see, um… Nigel." Kowalski replied, looking incredibly guilty.

"Uncle Nigel said we are never to be seen out of character, certainly not in uniform," Private replied, "Are you going to meet Doris?"

"What makes you think that?" Kowalski replied nervously.

"Since when do you bring Uncle Nigel flowers?" Private countered.

"Alright, you have a point. It's just, Doris said I look… smart in my uniform. I'll try not to be seen," Kowalski replied, "Anyway, Doris is a respectable woman. If we get as well-known as Nigel hopes… you know what I mean."

"You really thought I was going to stop you?" Private asked, slightly surprised.

"Actually, yes."

"I'd never tell Skippah. I've a bit of a soft spot for romance."

* * *

"You said you needed to talk to me urgently. If it's about the mission…" Kowalski asked a concerned expression on his face.

"No, it's not about that. I'm still mad about that but, this is worse," Doris replied, "He's coming Kowalski. My father is coming."

_"Miss Blowhole, I didn't want to show you those photographs, but I need you to understand what your father does," Skipper put the photographs back in his brief case. _

_"You want me to spy on my own father?" Doris asked. When she looked up, Skipper could see she had tears in her eyes. _

_"You're the only one who can."_

"You can't mean…"

"He escaped before the trial. He's coming after you. And the team."

"He was being tried for war crimes," there had to be some kind of mistake. Kowalski simply did not want to believe Blowhole was back, "They had their best men guarding him, I knew those men personally, he couldn't have escaped."

"He did, Kowalski. Manfridi and Johnson are dead." Kowalski would have taken being hit by a truck better than he took the news. Then a second thought occurred to him, possibly more terrible.

"Does he know… about us? About… Munich?" Kowalski asked, his voice brittle.

_"I hope you consider the lives you'll be saving before you refuse, Miss Blowhole," Skipper concluded, "Lieutenant Kowalski will escort you home. He'll tell you how to contact us once you've reached a decision." _

_"Ma'am." Kowalski opened the door for the young woman, her face still damp with tears. It was clear by the look he shot his commanding officer, he did not approve of the course of action._

_Once they were out on the street, Doris turned to the man, who had previously been completely silent:_

_"Look, about your mission," Doris began to explain, "I just can't believe…" _

_"Skipper shouldn't have asked you to do that," Kowalski stated, somewhat protectively, "I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't know what he was going to propose when he asked to be introduced to you."_

_"No, Kowalski. What I was trying to say was," Doris repeated, "I'm going to do it."_

_"Doris, you can't be serious. We can get a seasoned intelligence officer down here in two days…"_

_"And watch my father capture them. No Kowalski, I don't want you charging in there blind. I don't want my father to say that he'll have to skip dinner for work, and know that the reason is because he has you guys somewhere in the schloss, doing god knows what." _

_"I can't let you do that." Kowalski stated, trying to keep his gaze straight ahead and professional._

_"Why not?"_

_"I…" Kowalski stopped walking, as he tried to think of some other way to say this, "I love you Doris." Kowalski expected some kind of slap, or rebuttal. It was unprofessional to feel that way, and Doris was right his feelings could cause the team to go charging in blind. However, when he gathered the courage to look, Doris was smiling._

_"Well, I'm glad you finally had the guts to out and say it." Doris stated matter of fact, before, much to Kowalski's surprise, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him into a kiss._

"No, he still thinks I'm one of them. He sent me a telegram, telling me he was coming after you." Doris replied. Kowalski could hear the fear in her voice.

_ "Doris, he knows Skipper's team were the ones who rescued Professor Swansea. It's too dangerous to stay!" Kowalski pleaded._

_"Kowalski, I have to get the rest of the files." Doris stood her ground._

_"It's too dangerous, I'm taking you with me. I know he's your father but I doubt he would spare your life if he knew what you were doing."_

_"I know you're only trying to protect me, but I'm a big girl now," Doris looked over her shoulder, checking that they were alone, "Go Kowalski, as soon as I have the files, Nigel will put me on the first boat to New York when I'm done."_

"We've beaten him before. We can do it again."

"He has guns Kowalski, lots of guns, and money to hire men."

"I'm sure Nigel would give us a tank if we asked for it." Doris leant across the table of the café.

"Just stay safe." She whispered.

"Since when am I ever safe?"

"Shut up and kiss me nerd boy."

* * *

**January 16th 1950**

"Thank you, thank you… no, it's my pleasure to share my discoveries with the scientific community…" Kowalski muttered in his sleep.

"Get up!" Rico hit him across the face with a newspaper. Kowalski turned over and buried his head under his pillow.

"Yes Mr President… I'm honoured that you think my discoveries were important enough to…"

"Look a' this!" Rico grabbed the sleeping man by his t-shirt and hauled him out of bed and onto the floor.

"Rico!" Kowalski protested, now wide awake. Rico waved the newspaper in front of his face.

"Holy flying cars, Rico! Our cover's blown!" Kowalski exclaimed, snatching the newspaper out of Rico's hands and quickly scanning the article. Most of it was simply describing their progress, which was record breaking, but the headline gave a good indication of what was actually in that article: Identities of Mysterious New Gang Leaders Discovered! Below this were four photographs. Photographs of them in uniform.

_"… A team of four men known to control the 'mystery gang' have been revealed to be a team of ex-commandos, code named The Penguins. The team was made up of a Captain Blake Grant, Lieutenant Peter Kowalski, Sergeant Alexander Rico, and Private Timothy Jones; known as Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and Private by peers…"_

Kowalski finished reading the article, "Don't we bribe people in the press to stop stuff like this happening?" Kowalski asked. Rico nodded.

"'s Marlene Roberts." Rico pointed to the name at the bottom of the article.

"Marlene Roberts on our case?! I thought she was strictly Rockhopper bashing?" Kowalski asked. Marlene Roberts was an intrepid young reporter, determined to destroy the mobs with the press. They'd already saved her several times, though she didn't know it, "Rico, this is not good…"

Kowalski was interrupted by the phone ringing in the other room. Rico ran towards it immediately, Kowalski, however, had a feeling he knew what it was and followed with far less gusto.

* * *

Rico answered the phone, "Age' Nigel sir?!... Yes, sir… 'orry sir," Rico covered the receiver with his hand, a pitying look on his face, "It's for you." Kowalski face palmed. Well, best to get it over it. He picked up the phone.

_"Lieutenant Kowalski!" _Nigel shouted over the line,_ "What the hell did you think you were doing breaking cover?! In uniform no less! That annoying reporter might not have been able to find your file of she hadn't known your rank!" _the line fell silent, _"Well, what's your excuse?" _Kowalski swallowed nervously.

"Um, I wore it on a date… sir."

_"Why were you risking your cover on a date? To impress your girlfriend?"_

"Well… I wouldn't put it that way… Sort of… Actually… Yes. Doris said I looked smart in my uniform," Kowalski answered as if the last statement were an adequate explanation.

_"You blew your cover to impress your girlfriend?! When I was a Lieutenant, back in the Great War, that kind of thing would get you…"_

"Well, we could use this to our advantage, sir."

_"Kids these days, all fast cars and… Wait, we could use it to our advantage?"_

"Well, um, we've had to make our previous operations look amateur to throw off suspicion, for one thing. Now we're able to perform to our full capabilities."

_"You're going to have to come up with a better excuse than that!"_

"Well, um… maybe, it might make us look more threatening to the Rockhoppers, if edited versions of our missions were leaked to the press. You know, like Skipper taking down RAT." The line went silent.

_"You know, you just might be right… Della, get me headquarters. I want to know just how much we can leak…" _Click. Nigel had hung up. Kowalski sighed with relief.

* * *

It was eight o'clock that evening when Skipper returned.

"Well, turns out Ringtail really is almost bankrupt, he just doesn't realise it. If he didn't have Maurice around, he probably wouldn't be able to keep his head on straight," Skipper reported over a cup of coffee. The effects of life at the 'Cabana were starting to wear on him. His eyes were heavy, with dark circles beneath him. He'd washed out the dye, combed his hair and changed into his usual suit, so he was pretty much back to looking like good old Skipper again.

"So who did you go as this time?" Private asked, "Please say a star!"

"That's classified," Skipper yawned, "I'm hittin' the hay."

* * *

**January 18****th**** 1950**

"I'm tellin' you X, lay off the case." Rodger, warned his colleague.

"Why? Because you're on the take?" Officer X growled, "I don't care if I'm the only officer on the force who doesn't take orders from The Penguins, I'm going to hunt them down, and I'm going to bring them in." The team, had gotten the nickname, the Penguins, after one of the 50% fabricated files leaked to the press had accidentally contained the information that their team's code name was penguin.

"I'm just tellin' ya, I don't know why, but the lieutenant says we should keep away from them." X's face contorted into a scowl.

"So they've bought him too…"


	4. Chapter 4

**February 20th 1950**

Buck Rockgut leant back in his chair, twiddling a pen between his fingers. That was always what he did when he was thinking. "Hans, what do you think of the Penguins?" the man asked. Hans, a youngish man, tall and fair haired, wearing an expensive pinstripe suit considered this for a few seconds, or at least wanted Rockgut to think he was.

"I don't trust them," the Dane replied. Rockgut nodded thoughtfully.

"And you don't trust them because?" Rockgut had the air of a master, who'd already come to his own conclusion, but wanted to see what his student had to say. He was getting older, but he was just as sharp as he always was, nobody doubted that.

"It seems too easy. They turn up, seemingly out of nowhere, pull off the second biggest bank heist in New York history with absolutely no casualties, then within a matter of months have already turned themselves into a serious player. Not to mention, the police seem to be cracking down extra hard on us and everyone else, but not them."

"So you think they're undercover cops?" Rockgut asked, though this was more a confirmation that his student was on the right track.

"Yes. Have you noticed that they've had no law enforcement casualties, except officers with lots of death threats coming up to retirement, and even with those, for some reason or another, we've never been able to get our hands on a body. I don't know about you, but I smell a rat."

"Or perhaps you are afraid this Skipper, will become a competitor." For a brief moment, Hans paled, though he soon regained his composure. It was uncanny how well Rockgut could read people.

"No sir."

"You are afraid that Skipper will be smart enough that if I make him an offer, he will accept. That he will rise to your level as fast as he has risen among the gangs and that I will name him successor. Don't lie to me Hans."

"Sorry sir."

"Still, you have a point. I wanted to know if you'd make the connection between the missing bodies and the Penguin's casualties. It could be that the cops were faking their deaths, or it could be that the Penguins simply do not wish to leave any evidence, and have paid off the right people so that the best officers are not sent on their case."

"If they have that kind of influence, why don't they just cease all investigation in all cases concerning them?"

"Because it would be such an obvious beacon of corruption that it might just call in authorities, more powerful than the NYPD, or even the FBI."

"What? The CIA?"

"Department D. I believe an Agent Nigel runs it. The Penguins used to work for them during the war. They have almost unlimited funding, and the fact that they technically don't exist, lets them do as they please."

"I still don't feel comfortable making them an offer."

"Neither do I. I want to watch them a bit longer."

* * *

"…If you re-elect me as mayor, for this fair city, I promise to crack down hard on organised crime, especially the alleged gang, the Rockhoppers…" the politician announced.

"But not the Penguins," Marlene Roberts muttered to no one in particular. She stood near the middle of the crowd, taking notes; she'd arrived too late to make the front like the rest of the journalists. Still, she still had a decent review of the podium. It was a warm day, and Marlene's brown hair, cut shorter than most and kept off her face by a simple green beret, sparkled in the sunlight. Despite the weather, Marlene still wore her customary brown suit, which matched her hair.

"Marlene Roberts, Daily Central. Mr Roy, what do you have to say about sporadic subway train times?" Marlene asked waving her notepad above her head to gain the politician's attention, "Allegations have been made that trains are being diverted or delayed to allow illegal substances brought into New York from the docks to be smuggled into the city."

"I…"

"There memorandums made public in recent investigations that explicitly name senior members of your administration as working with the Penguins to run this set up."

"Well, Miss Roberts, if there is any truth to the allegations made against Mr Alison, I aim to combat this." Marlene cursed under her breath. That was just plain sloppy. She'd spent the morning going through deeds and bank statements, still trying to track down the elusive Penguins. It was all very well her exposing them, finding them was a different matter entirely. They weren't even trying to hide from her, business continued on as usual for them; it was simply that they were good enough that they seemingly could only be found if they wanted to be. Well, good luck her finding one. She was surprised she hadn't gotten any death threats yet.

"Roy's a slippery one, been in the Squirrel's pocket over a year," Marlene turned around at the sound of the unexpected voice, "Name's Blake Grant, by the way."

"Marlene Roberts, reporter." She replied, recovering quickly.

"I know. You picked the worst photograph of me to publish. Kowalski took it." Skipper smirked.

"Mr Grant, you are allegedly…" Marlene began to ask as her reporter instinct kicked in.

"Why don't you quiz me over lunch?"

* * *

"Any other questions?" Skipper asked as he pulled out his wallet to pay the bill.

"I'll pay," Marlene objected, "Yes, I've got one more question, which you hopefully won't answer as 'classified'…"

"It… It's on the house." The waiter stuttered. Skipper shook his head.

"See, ever since you published my picture in the Central, I can't walk down the street without people freaking out. Anyway, what's this 'one last question'?" Skipper held the door open for the reporter.

"Why spontaneously come out of hiding and give me an exclusive interview?" Marlene asked expecting the answer 'that's classified'.

"I was curious."

"Curious?"

"Yeah, you're pretty much the only reporter brave enough to write about us, never mind expose us. So, my turn, why aren't you afraid?" Marlene stopped in front of the car, turning around to face the man.

"I am. I just don't think people like you should be allowed to…"

The bullet missed the woman's head by a few millimetres. Marlene looked up at the rooftop the shot had come from.

"What the hell…"

"Get down!" Skipper ordered, pushing the woman into the car. There was a chance the assassin would go for the fuel tank, but standing on the sidewalk, she was sitting duck. Skipper whipped out his gun from the shoulder holster under his jacket and returned fire. Marlene started the engine.

"Well, get in." she ordered. Skipper made his way towards the driver's side's door, keeping his eyes on the figure on the roof, "Other door, I'm driving." Skipper normally would have protested this, but now wasn't exactly a good time for an argument.

* * *

"So I'm guessing Miss Roberts is safe? Kowalski asked. Skipper nodded.

"That sounded like it was a rather dangerous afternoon, Skippah." Private said.

"Yeah, never let that woman behind the wheel of a car," Skipper replied, "I'd have rather have taken my chances on the sidewalk."

"You should see Doris," Kowalski rolled his eyes, "Why women are allowed to drive is beyond me."

"You really shouldn't stereotype," Private defended, "Cupid was a rather good driver."

"Would you please get over her, Private?" Skipper complained, "For heaven's sake she's on the other side!"

"Sorry Skippah."

* * *

**February 23****rd****1950**

"So you're the famous Moon Cat O'Malley," Skipper smirked as he held the skinny malnourished drug addict by his neck, just over the edge of the roof top.

"What… what do you want?" O'Malley choked.

"I just wanted to clear up a communication error. You sent me a telegram last week, it went something like this: "am refusing offer stop twenty per cent is insane stop this is my final answer stop." Now, I was just wondering if whoever you dictated this too is perhaps hard of hearing." Moon Cat's eyes widened in fear. He mumbled incoherently, shaking like a leaf, from time to time looking down at the long drop below him, "Well, Moon Cat? My arm's starting to get tired. Was the message misspelled or not?"

"I… It was correct… I can't accept your offer."

Moon Cat was sure Skipper was going to drop him when instead, the man turned around and tossed him into the centre of the roof like a rag doll.

"Twenty per cent… I can't…" Moon Cat pleaded.

"You're lying. Who's threatening you?" Skipper shouted, slowly and deliberately walking towards O'Malley.

"N…No one, sir. No one!"

"I can protect you, Moon Cat."

"Not from him! He'll kill me!"

"I'm going to kill you right now. You can take my offer, and I can guarantee that you will be protected, or I drop you twenty stories." Skipper grabbed Moon Cat by his arm, hard enough that it dislocated his shoulder. The man screamed in pain.

"Alright! Twenty per cent!"

"Who told you not to take my offer?!" Skipper shouted.

"I can't tell you! He'll kill me!"

"We've already been over that." Skipper grabbed the man by the arm, making sure it was the one with the dislocated shoulder and began to drag him towards the edge of the roof.

"Officer X! Officer X!" Skipper stopped looking down at Moon Cat, as serious expression on his face.

"Officer X?"

"YES!"

"You better not be lying to me." Skipper knelt down beside the man, once again grabbing his arm, this time, more gently.

"Wha… What are you doing?"

"Fixing your shoulder," Skipper handed Moon Cat a bullet to bite, "I did say I'd protect you."

* * *

**March 3****rd****1950**

"Hm… Nice" Rico admired the diamond ring on his finger.

"I'm pretty sure we're supposed to send the proceeds of our criminal operations strait back to Uncle Sam." Kowalski remarked.

"Who gonna miss a few thousand?" Rico shrugged.

"But surely…" Now that Kowalski thought about it, Nigel had nothing but their word to confirm that they really were declaring all their proceeds. There was no clear way, for anyone but them, to know just how much they'd made, "No, you have a point."

"'ah always wanted one a' dose," Rico continued to admire the ring, "Don' oo always want 'at wireless 'et?" Kowalski stiffened.

"I… I couldn't." Rico handed Kowalski several neatly folded bills.

"'ey never k'ow." Rico tempted. Rico placed the money in Kowalski's pocket when the scientist made no move to accept.

"What about Skipper? Won't he…"

"'Ipper probably alrea'ee doin' it." Kowalski, try as he might couldn't force the sight of that radio set out of his mind.

"Fine. Just this once…" Kowalski paused.

"Wha' wrong?" Rico asked. The scientist smirked.

"I just never figured you'd…"

"KOWALSKI!" Kowalski hear Skipper yell from another room loud enough for the whole city to hear. The two men exchanged nervous glances, then Kowalski cautiously entered the living room.

"Anything wrong, Skipper?" He asked, though it was obvious there was something wrong.

"I just got off the phone with Joey," Skipper fumed, "X has done it again, and we're out $40,000!"

"That's not good," Kowalski started to panic, "that takes us approximately 60 days off the objective, increasing the probability of the mission being cancelled and…"

"Not helping, Kowalski."

"Sorry."

"What is it with this guy?" Skipper slammed the phone down hard enough that it made Private in the next room wince, "It's like he's everywhere, and when we try and catch him, nowhere."

"It is hard to believe he's only one man."


	5. Chapter 5

**March 5****th****1950**

"Officer X, is it?" Nigel asked, looking up from the desk, "If I'm correct, you were discovered to have searched the files and homes of a senior officer, a Lieutenant Archie 'the archer' Du Voleur, and two other officers in your precinct without a warrant." Officer X stood on the other side of the desk to the intelligence officer, who was 'borrowing' the office of a lower ranking, though ranked high enough to hopefully intimidate X, internal affairs officer. X was becoming a serious threat to the team, else he wouldn't have taken the risk of stepping in.

"They were on the take, sir." X replied.

"Yes, they were, I'll give you that, and they have been dismissed, but that's up to internal affairs to investigate, not you."

"They're on the take too."

"Not all of us. Even if you were the only honest officer on this planet, which I can guarantee you're not, you do not conduct an investigation in that manner." X sat down in the chair across from 'Agent Anderson', without invitation. He crossed his legs, the senior officer's rank obviously not having the intimidating effect Nigel had hoped.

"There was no other way to expose them."

"There were other ways. Now, X I'm putting you on probation. If another incident occurs, well I'm sure you understand the consequences. On to the matter of the Penguins…"

"I will not rest until every single one of them are behind bars!" X stood up, slamming his fist on the desk.

"Tell, me, off the record, of course, why are you so determined to track down that particular gang?" Nigel asked as the enraged officer began to pace the room like a caged tiger, "They certainly aren't as large as the Rockhoppers, nor as brutal as the Squirrels."

"They killed my brother," X answered. That Nigel didn't believe. The team prided themselves on little to no civilian casualties, but then Nigel hadn't checked up on them in the last two months… Still, he doubted Skipper's iron will could ever be bent to become more a criminal than simply playing the role, "He died on a drug bust. Everyone says it was an accident that pile of bricks fell on him, but I've got evidence it was cut by a bullet. A bullet that matches other bullets known to have been fired by one of the Penguin's guns. I've got a friend in the labs."

Nigel stood up from his desk, "Well, X, I want you to leave the Penguins alone." The room fell silent. X glared at the senior officer, his rage so apparent Nigel was beginning to wonder if he was going to need to defend himself.

X walked down the stone steps and out onto the street. He took out a small notebook from his pocket, and under the heading 'bought', wrote: Agent Anderson, " I'm going to track down those Penguins no matter what some over paid desk monkey has to say," X muttered, "Those Penguins are going down."

* * *

"Hello, who is this?" Skipper answered the phone.

"_Morning Blake_," the familiar female voice on the other end of the phone greeted.

"Morning Marlene. I'm guessing you want another exclusive interview?" skipper asked jokingly.

"_Naturally. There's an exhibition of some of Burt Elephanté's at the Museum of Modern Art."_

"You want me to steal them?"

_"Very funny. I want you to look at them, simply because I believe that you should have some culture in your life. Maybe it will convince you to consider a better, and less destructive path."_

"Alright," Skipper knew he was possibly consenting to the most boring day of his life, but what the hell, anything for his girl, "I'll pick you up at your place in 20 minutes."

_"Sounds good. Bye."_

* * *

"And if you look at this piece, you can tell the artist was trying to portray…" Marlene lectured though Skipper was paying close to no attention, "… Now, in my opinion, this is, the perfect composition simply because..."

"Hm…" Skipper had a thoughtful look on his face as he stared at the painting, "Almost."

"What do you mean almost?!"

"Almost. They used a T32 anti tamper circuit. It's almost impenetrable, but if you interrupt the circuit here," Skipper pointed to the edge of the painting, "Nothing happens. It's a blind spot. Any good art thief would know that. They should have splurged on a B45."

"You're hopeless! Now, try and keep your mind on art."

"Good security is an art."

"You know what I mean."

"Alright," Skipper scrutinised the same painting, "this looks suspiciously like the plans for one of Kowalski's crazy inventions."

"You are insufferable!"

"It really does!"

* * *

**May 28****th****1950**

Skipper crouched in the rafters, just above the table where his 'employees' sat, Moon Cat now among them. The numbers had thinned since X had begun his one man campaign on the Penguins. It wouldn't have been a problem if X played by the rules. Instead, he was using Skipper's own tactics against him, intimidating his employees and possible associates, and destroying merchandise and real estate. Whatever they tried to buy, X had already anticipated them and destroyed it. Whatever they already had, well, there was a pretty decent chance X had or planned to destroy that too.

Skipper looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes late. Skipper shifted his position, ready to drop down onto the table. If there was two things he'd learned about arriving at meetings, they were:

A) Arrive fashionably late, it made it clear that you were in charge, and

B) Make an entrance.

This was especially important to the elite commando persona he was cultivating. Skipper landed on the table, rolling to dissipate the force of the impact, before climbing down and taking a seat at the head of the table.

"Well, gentlemen," this was the cue for the rest of the team to crash through various windows. The three other men took their seats, "Shall we begin?" Suddenly, there was another crash. At first Skipper thought it was just Private arriving late again, but Private, who was seated next to him, seemed just as surprised as he was. Everyone at the table fell silent, watching to see what Skipper would do.

Skipper drew his gun, stood up from the chair, and made his way towards the source of the noise. The other three team members followed suit. The sound seemed to have come from the front door. Between them and the front door, was a makeshift cloakroom, where the invitee's 'boys' waited. Six shots rang out. There were six bodyguards.

"Kowalski, give me some options!" Skipper ordered. Rico handed Kowalski his clipboard.

"There's a window that spans the gap between the two rooms. We should be able to get a good look at the persons or, though unlikely, person we're dealing with, without being seen." Kowalski replied.

"Sounds good. Rico, Private, start climbing. Kowalski, make sure nobody in here tries to use this as an opportunity to take out the bigger fish. I'll cover the door." Immediately, the four men took up their posts, Private and Rico beginning the climb up the rough brick work of the warehouse to a gap in the wall that separated the two rooms.

"It's Officer X sir!" Private hissed. The matter at hand now had Skipper's full attention.

"What's he saying?" Skipper asked. Private listened for a few seconds, then spoke, his voice lower and the English accent gone. Private had an excellent talent for voices.

"**While you sorry excuses for human life bleed out, you can tell me exactly where the drugs are**." Privates voice changed again, mimicking the weak, yet terrified cough of the dying man's reply, "_There ain't nothin'… like tha'… that here," _Once again, Private returned to officer X, "**Oh, so what are you idiots doing here? **Skippah, he's pulled out a gun, he's pointing it at him. I think he's going to talk Skipper!"

"Keep listening, Private."

"_We… It's a… cough… meeting… the Pengu… _He's passed out. Skippah, Officer X looks pretty frightened._"_

"Yes, I thought it was improbable he would be stupid enough to try and take all of us head on without preparation." Kowalski added.

"Well Joey ain't waitin' around!" The trigger-happy Australian stood up and marched towards the door. Before the penguins could stop him, he had kicked the door open, and using it as cover, began to fire on X. X dived behind a pile of crates and returned fire.

Private could tell from the look on his face, that he was in a fight or flight position, and Joey had just cut off the flight. If X made a dive for the door, he would be directly in Joey's line of fire. Private considered ordering Joey back, or 'accidentally' tripping and landing on the bigger man, knocking the gun out of his hand, but that would look to suspicious. Still, he had to say, Joey was pretty formidable, and Private knew Skipper wouldn't be able to beat him in a fight unarmed, so from what he'd seen of X, the police officer had a decent chance as long as nobody else got involved.

"Well, Skipper, y'gonna help?" Joey shouted. Much to the surprise of the rest of the team, Skipper approached the door, staying just behind the brick doorframe, and began to fire on the unfortunate officer.


	6. Chapter 6

May 4th 1950

"Agent Nigel, you have a lot of explaining to do!" Brigadier General Arthur Lacy boomed. Nigel once again stood before the board of men who he had originally pitched his idea to, "Last night, one of your men, Captain Grant to be exact, gunned down a police officer, none of his men doing anything to prevent it," The room fell unusually silent. There were no shouts of agreement or disagreement, "Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Well," Nigel cleared his throat, "If you look at the facts…"

"All provided by your men with absolutely no way to verify most of them." One of the board members muttered.

"Most cannot be verified, yes, but some points in the report can. We know the shots that killed the late Officer X were fired from two different guns, one belonging to Captain Grant, and the other to a Joey Gregory. There was a meeting of the smaller gangs incorporated into our team's. The men outside the door, who were definitely killed by X, were a mixture of bodyguards and lieutenants; it's obvious why we know this as we found their bodies and the bullets that killed them, not to mention X's gun," Nigel placed the ballistics report on the table, which was quickly snapped up and read by the more sceptical officers in the room, "We also know X went to the warehouse to burn down a shipment of drugs, with absolutely no idea the Penguins would be there. We know this from X's journal which the team has yet to know of."

"What the _solid_ evidence tells us doesn't verify the report given by your men. In fact it does nothing to verify the excuse your men made for the officer's death."

"Let me explain it this way: X had an obsession with my team. He was no longer working as a police officer, but working outside the law, using illegal methods. Examples of this would be intimidation, and twice, murder. X would have gotten the death penalty, had the team received my telegram telling them to bring him in."

"Then your men should have known to bring him in, even without the telegram. Their irregular position does not give them the right to bypass due process."

"I did not bring that up as an excuse, I'm just trying to counter the argument that my men should have tried to reason with X before it got to violence. Now, Captain Grant was caught in a position in which, if he had backed down, he would have destroyed the entire operation. Not only that, but it would have endangered their lives. It would have made them seem weak, encouraging the lesser gangs to rise up against them and try to take power. Their choice was simple, a renegade officer's life, versus the future of New York," Nigel let the question hang in the air for a few seconds to increase the dramatic effect, "Now, gentlemen, what should they have chosen?"

"Nigel, this is what your men say the situation was like. I know it is probable that was the situation, they were in a room full of mobsters, the only other exit blocked, but how do we know the team saw that as the only option?" Lacy asked, "I believe Lieutenant Kowalski specializes in finding ways out of situations like these. Couldn't they have used some kind of distraction? Like a flash bang thrown from an angle that would make it seem as if X had thrown it?"

"Why would my men deliberately kill a police officer?"

"I know you would trust these men with your life, but they've been under cover, with no contact with any of us for several months. They've been subjected to extreme stress, and have gained, in a short space of time, huge amounts of power and money…"

"Sir, it's all just an act."

"But how do you know it hasn't become more? Power, especially _that_ kind of power, can corrupt even the best of men."

"Not my men. You've seen the evidence."

"It's not conclusive!" one of the men at the table objected.

"I believe that the burden of proof is on the prosecution," Nigel countered, "There is no conclusive evidence that my men killed X for reasons other than to protect their cover and as far as I know their 'special position' doesn't make them any different than anyone else. If you find any, I would love to hear it." The men began to file out of the conference room. _I just stuck my neck out for you, Skipper. Don't prove me wrong_ Nigel thought worriedly.

"K'walski?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something, Private." Kowalski replied without looking up.

"Well, I'm sorry to bother you, but… was killing X really necessary?" Private asked cautiously. Kowalski looked up from his calculations.

"Yes. Yes I think so."

"I just can't satisfy myself that…"

"Skipper didn't kill X because he felt like it? Skipper's not like Joey, Private. Yes, X was seriously decreasing our intake, but Skipper wouldn't kill him over that."

"I didn't ask if Skipper killed him over intake. Is that why you didn't tell him he could have had Rico throw that flash bang?"

* * *

**June 6th 1950**

The phone rang.

"Oh mackerel…" Skipper groaned, standing up to answer.

"Wha'?" Rico asked. Skipper sighed. The phone continued to ring.

"It's either Marlene asking me to go to yet another 'improving' gallery, or Julian calling to say he's out of money."

"I'm surprised at the fact that you didn't pick up the phone immediately," Private protested, "I mean, if you really love a girl…" Skipper shook his head.

"Poor naive Private," Skipper walked over to the receiver, "Alright, Private, I'm going to answer it just for you," Private smiled. Skipper scowled back, "That also means you're responsible if the call is as depressing as I think it's going to be," Skipper picked up the phone, "Hello?" suddenly the man's face lit up, "Yes sir… No, I'm interested… yes, my team too… Sure, Wednesday sounds fine," Skipper hung up the phone, looking like a kid who'd just woken up on Christmas morning.

"Did she ask you to marry you, Skippah?" Private asked.

"No," Skipper chuckled, "Better than that."

"Come on Skipper, spill it." Kowalski demanded.

"We've got an offer, boys."

* * *

**June 8th 1950**

"Sir, I still don't trust them." Hans argued. Rockgut shuffled through some papers on his desk.

"Hans, they killed a police officer in front of an entire room full of witnesses, what more proof do you need? Anyway they hit $199,000," Rockgut replied. The two were seated in the former's office, awaiting the arrival of the team.

"It was X. They were going to execute him for first degree murder anyway. The Penguins were just saving the tax payers' money."

"You really think you gotta put up that façade? It's pretty damned obvious you just don't want the competition…"

"Mr Rockgut, a Captain Blake Grant to see you." His secretary announced over the intercom.

"Thank you Stacy. Send them in."

"I can't believe we're actually here, Skippah!" Private whispered excitedly, "What if I mess up, what if…"

"Cool and dangerous, Private. Cool and dangerous. No need to say a word." Skipper reassured, watching the door to Rockgut's office with anticipation, "That's me and Kowalski's jobs."

"But Skippah," Private complained, "I'm not sure I want to seem like that."

"Just be thankful you don't have to do cute and cuddly like Manfridi and Johnson back in Gurfulgicklestan."

"Yuch." Rico agreed.

"Alright, Skippah," Private replied, somewhat sadly, as he walked back into the HQ, "Though I would rather prefer cute and cuddly…"

"Captain Grant?" The secretary re-entered the room, "Mr Rockgut will see you now."

* * *

"Come on in. Sit down, Captain Grant." Rockgut motioned to a chair across from the desk. Hans was now stood behind his master's chair, glaring daggers at the four men who entered. The three other members of the team took up similar positions behind their leader.

"Let's cut to the chase, Rockgut," Skipper sat down, "You want a merger."

"You've done your homework."

"I hit the $199,000* mark" Skipper replied, "My lieutenant says that's the point at which you would have to either make us an offer us or destroy us before our competition gets too serious."

"An economist?"

"No, Mr Rockgut," Kowalski suppressed a smile, "I only dabble in economics, I'm really an inventor."

"What kind of stuff?" Hans asked critically.

"Project: S.T.A.N.K, would be the only declassified example." Kowalski replied haughtily. Hans' disapproving scowl deepened.

"So, to business?" Skipper reminded.

"As you wish, Mr Grant. Now, I've seen the way you took over the Joey's gang after his unfortunate passing."

"X got lucky."

"I've heard other rumours."

"He was trying to take over. Need I say more?"

"Hm… Initiative. Good, but I have high standards."

"I'm sure we'll meet them…"

* * *

**June 16****th****1950**

"You're sure this will work?" skipper asked, driving past the bank in the team's distinctive hot pink (don't ask) CJ-2A. It was an unusual vehicle, and well known as the Penguin's vehicle, but they wanted the Squirrels on guard, here at this particular bank, "It's kind of crazy to have them up the security and double the guard inside a place we plan on robbing. We barely pulled off the last three."

"I know," Kowalski replied, smiling at the terrified glances the clerks inside gave them, some of them making a dive for the nearest phone, "We don't need to rob them. After the last six robberies we pulled, the Squirrels are nearly bankrupt. Now, this place is the only one left. We've broadcasted the fact that we're casing the joint. So, if we keep to our previous pattern…"

"I still don't get that part, K'walski," Private asked, "I mean, isn't rule number one, apart from the credo, never repeat yourself?"

"But Private, if we set up a pattern, then they hopefully will realise that pattern, and know we will break in, in exactly three days' time. They'll have an ambush ready for us."

"oo crazy." Rico muttered.

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be on this team. Now, here's the plan…"


	7. Chapter 7

**June 19****th**** 1950**

The three men strode into the bank, weapons aimed at the guards who had immediately attempted to draw their weapons. Rico motioned for them to toss them into the centre of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you've read the papers, so you know exactly what we're going to ask for, and what we will do, if you don't do it." Skipper announced. The three men walked further into the room, approaching the counters.

"Yes, we have read about your exploits," A familiar Russian accented voice replied. The team turned around, to see a tall, red haired man, wearing a frayed black eye patch.

"The Red Squirrel." Skipper stated, showing neither surprise nor alarm.

_"The Squirrel knows we're going to rob the bank. Now, if he's as predictable as he's been the last ten years, he's going to turn up himself." Kowalski explained._

_"So the whole robbery spree was just to get his attention?" skipper asked._

_"That, and we also needed to get him desperate enough for his ego to consider us more than another of bunch Rockgut's flunkies."_

"I see you too read the papers. Now, be so kind as to drop your weapons." The Squirrel demanded.

"You and what army?" Skipper laughed.

"Me and this army…" Behind them, twenty armed men, stood up from their hiding spaces behind the counters, guns trained on the team, "…A cliché, I know but everyone falls for it. Now, will you drop your weapons? I plan on making an example of this."

_"The Red Squirrel will unquestionably attempt to ambush us, and since he's not particularly bright, and he sticks to his patterns, he's probably going to hide 20 to 50 armed associates about the room."_

_"And the only place to hide that many people, and give them cover during a shootout…"_

_"Would be behind the counters?" Kowalski replied, "Yes."_

"No," skipper contradicted, "I think _you_ should drop _your _weapons."

"Really, Skipper? And I thought your lieutenant was supposed to be a genius."

"I am, and you need to learn to count," Kowalski looked up at the ceiling, "Ever wonder where our fourth member went?" Private, who was seated atop the decorative chandelier overhanging the teller's counters, smiled mischievously, his gun was aimed at the cable attaching it to the ceiling.

"Just in case you haven't worked this out, if my Private shoots the cable, your men, are all dead. So, they can put down their weapons, or they can be crushed by a giant chandelier," skipper took a step forward, daring his captor to shoot him, " I'm sure even if you told them to shoot us, they would value their own lives enough to realise they shouldn't."

"They're bluffing!" The Squirrel's appeal was more to his men than to his former captives, "If their man shoots the cable, he'll die too."

"Private's expendable," Skipper replied coldly, "Unlike your men, mine would do anything to complete the mission. You should invest more in blind loyalty."

_"So now we have them all in one place. What do we do now? Stand there and get shot at?" Skipper asked._

_"No, we threaten them," Kowalski replied, "Do you know the first thing I thought when I looked at the plans of that bank?"_

_"It had beautiful Greco Roman arches?" Private guessed._

_"No, that gigantic chandelier is a health and safety hazard. Now, the targets are behind the counters. So, we simply put a man up on that chandelier, we can do that some time at night, (we've snuck in how many thousand times?) and he can threaten to drop the thing on their heads unless they surrender."_

_"What about the man on the chandelier? Won't they know we're bluffing?"_

_"They don't know much about us. From some of the rumours I've been hearing, it wouldn't be surprising to many people if you were perfectly fine with sacrificing a member of the team."_

_"But I won't really…"_

_"Of course not. I wouldn't suggest this course of action if that was the case."_

Skipper took another step forward; just as he heard the clatter of the Red Squirrel's men's guns hitting the floor.

"So Red, what was it you said about making an example of me? Well, I'm feeling like making an example of you."

* * *

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Rockgut exclaimed, "Setting all that up so you could kill their leader right in front of their faces. Just like Skipper did with RAT."

"It's simple psychology, sir," Kowalski replied, "Now we have their undying loyalty and respect, not to mention the fact they're terrified of us."

"And what about the second in commands? I'm guessing you're going to hunt them down?"

"No sir, that isn't necessary." Skipper explained, "We have their bank accounts, remember. They can't disappear without those. Anyway, it's more profitable for them to work for you now."

"Hmph! They got lucky," Hans sneered, "My men have always been far more productive." Rockgut ignored the comment, continuing his praise.

"The Squirrels had been a thorn in my side for too long. Still there's rumours of a new competitor setting up. Hans here says he goes by the code name of Mammal-fish…"

"Blowhole..." Skipper growled.

"Blowhole? You know him?"

"Col. Dr Eliot Blowhole," Skipper replied, "Sure I know him. I suppose you could call him my arch enemy."

"He's a Nazi war criminal. What's he doing starting a gang?" Hans demanded, then seeing an opportunity to contest his rival, continued, "Is this a trick? Are you using him as some kind of puppet to take over?"

"He's after revenge, trying to beat as at our own game…" Skipper replied.

"Ah, so it's your fault your little ghost from the past came back to haunt us." Hans interrupted.

"We captured Blowhole, and handed him over to the authorities. It's their fault he escaped," Skipper replied, "We beat him once. We'll beat him again."

* * *

"And so prisoner transport makes yet another blunder!" Skipper paced the room in frustration, "Why didn't you tell me he'd escaped?!"

"I… I didn't think he'd be a threat." Kowalski replied.

"You're lying. There's something you're not telling me. Deep fried swordfish, you're almost as incompetent as those idiots in prisoner transp…"

"Those 'idiots' in prisoner transport were Manfridi and Johnson." Skipper froze.

"Manfridi… Johnson…"

"That's why I didn't tell you he'd escaped. You'd want to know exactly how he'd escaped. Then, after I told you, you would check it yourself, just in case I'm a brainwashed enemy agent, so if I'd tried to hide that, you would have found out."

"Why didn't you tell me!" skipper shouted, lashing out at the wall.

"_That_ would be why," Kowalski replied, looking at the blood trickling from his leader's knuckles, "I didn't want you to…"

"Lack of information is weakness, Kowalski," Skipper stormed out of the room the living room and down the hall, "You of all people should know I don't tolerate any weakness." Skipper slammed door of his room. Kowalski could hear the man wedge a chair under the handle. He wasn't going to be coming out for a while.

* * *

**June 25****th**** 1950**

"Um, K'walski, can I talk to you a moment." Private asked poking his head into the lab. Kowalski looked up from his work. The two were alone in the HQ, Skipper was at a lecture Marlene had literally dragged him to, and Rico was 'out on the town' as was usual on Saturday nights.

"Sure, what about?" Kowalski asked warily. The last time Private had 'talked to him a moment' Private had rightly, though Kowalski never admitted this, accused him of allowing X's death to increase his own monetary gain.

"It's about Skippah... About how he's been acting since he heard about Manfredi and Johnson." Private replied, his voice wavering at his dead friends' names'.

"Well, he was upset the day I told him. He locked himself in his room for three days, but he seemed fine after that."

"He's... been different." Private replied.

"I haven't noticed anything…"

"You haven't come out of the lab since then."

"Yeah... How do you think he's changed?" Kowalski asked guiltily. Private was right, he had been in the lab most of the week. He hadn't even noticed that his leader, and close friend, wasn't taking the news particularly well.

_"What are you doing, Skippah?" Private asked, looking over his leader's shoulder. Immediately, Skipper stuffed the diagram he'd been working on into his blazer pocket, but Private had already had a decent look at the piece of paper, "Skippah, that looks like a plan for stealing our files from Department D?"_

_"No... Um... That's a plan for stealing my file from the Danish Embassy," Skipper replied._

_"No Skippah, that wasn't a plan of the Danish Embassy," Private answered, an unusual note of scepticism in his voice, "Why would you want to steal our files from Uncle Nigel?"_

_"You never know when the higher ups might declare us a security risk. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to stand here and let them eliminate us. I need to make sure that, should we ever need to, we'd be able to disappear, even from Nigel. _

_"Why do you need the files?"_

_"Without the data in our files, they'd have a pretty hard time predicting our movements."_

_"Skippah, he's my Uncle Nigel! He'd never do that!"_

_"He might be mind controlled by a space squid..."_

_"Skippah, those don't even exist! I'm offended that you would even think such a thing of my uncle."_

"That was yesterday, Kowalski. I asked Skipper, later of course, why he was behaving like that, and he told me it was classified."

"Hm... He does seem unusually paranoid."

"But Skippah is never paranoid," Private protested, "He's jaded, but he's not paranoid."

"I'm going to have to look in to that."

"There's more..."

_Private drew a rough sketch of Cupid on the newspaper on the table in front of him, staring at it dreamily. He hadn't seen her in several years, not since the team had gone on that mission to Madagascar. Private was snapped abruptly out of his daydream when Skipper's hand slammed down on top of the newspaper. Private looked up._

_"Oh sorry Skippah, I thought everyone was done with the paper," Skipper continued to look down on the lower ranking officer disapprovingly. Private took a quick glance at the newspaper checking to make sure he hadn't drawn over one of Marlene's articles, though Skipper didn't really seem to care even when he did._

_Finally, Skipper spoke, "What did I tell you about getting over her, Private? You can't fall in love with the enemy."_

_"Cupid's not the enemy, Skippah. I thought she was a rather nice girl."_

_"She's Russian! Can't you see it, Private? It's all one big conspiracy!"_

_"Skippah, don't you think that's a bit..."_

_"Listen to me Private. Manfridi and Johnson, well Johnson at least, he fell for one of the enemy. She nearly had his love-struck hide over the border before I noticed anything."_

"I don't remember that one." Kowalski commented, looking slightly concerned.

_Private was making breakfast in the kitchen when Skipper charged into the room._

_"Don't move Private!" He shouted, "You were about to flip the pancakes without using a spatula!"_

_"Um... Why shouldn't I?" Private asked, mentally slapping himself immediately afterward for sounding so insubordinate._

_"Why shouldn't you?! Manfridi and Johnson tried to flip a pancake without a spatula, and they ended up with second degree burns when they accidentally dropped the pan on their faces!"_

"Those two were incredibly accident prone." Kowalski reminisced.

"I have to agree with you there, but that's not what I mean. Skippah, he seems to be obsessed with them. I don't think that's healthy."

"No that isn't, but there isn't exactly anything we can do. I'm no psychiatrist, and we can't really call in anyone else without blowing our cover. We can't ask Nigel for one of his people because then they'd have to call off the mission..."

"I see your point. If we report this... well, it's Skipper's currently minor paranoia verses the potential safety of New York." Private bit his lip. He could think of several other reasons why Kowalski would insist that he not seek treatment, but Kowalski's excuse was reason enough, "Still, if he gets worse..."

"We'll call it in," Kowalski bit his lip, "Only if it gets worse."

***$199,ooo is approximately $2,000,000 in today's money**


	8. Chapter 8

**August 3rd 1950**

Several changes had taken place quite rapidly following the team's merger with the Rockhoppers. Firstly, all but Private had moved out of the HQ, using it only for team meetings; though it's location was a still as secret, even to Nigel. Rico had bought a lavish apartment close to Fifth Avenue, in central Manhattan with his latest 'lady friend' a young blond, whom Rico called Miss Perky. She didn't talk much, and nobody had asked for her real name.

Skipper had decided to remain in the crime infested neighbourhood known as 'The Zoo', 'commandeering' a house nearby the HQ. Marlene, despite the condition of the neighbourhood, had moved in; Skipper had felt comfortable with her walking the streets, as their relationship was no longer a secret in the local area, despite her public criticism of his criminal activities, and Skipper felt no one would dare harm _his_ girl.

Private had decided to remain at the HQ, partly out of sentimentality, and partly because it was the only place he could afford. He was the sole member of the team who refused to touch a cent of their ill-gotten gains. It was no secret to Nigel what the team had been doing for some time, though Nigel's hands were tied in that department, as exposing them would result in a loss of face to both him and Brigadier General Lacy, who'd vouched for him. Nigel satisfied himself with the barely believable excuse Kowalski had given: that the team needed to keep up a fairly extravagant facade for their cover.

Kowalski, like the rest of the team, had moved out, taking a less extravagant apartment than Rico's, in a neighbourhood near Doris. Doris and Kowalski still kept their relationship secret from the public eye, to protect her from her father, and to protect her dignity.

"So do you deem him a threat?" Rockgut asked. Skipper shook his head.

"He has resources, and commands loyalty, but in all other fields, we have the head start. In my opinion, he doesn't stand a chance." the two men were seated in Rockgut's office, Skipper delivering his monthly report.

"What about Kowalski's productivity assessment?"

"All here, sir." Skipper removed a small folder from his briefcase. Rockgut took the folder, and skimmed through its contents, "So far, we have realised 120% of or our expected profit..."

"I think we've done enough facts and figures for today."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir?" Rockgut smiled, "No need to call me that, you're not in the military anymore. You can call me Buck."

"Yes si... Sorry, it's an old habit."

"You remind me a lot of my son." Skipper interlaced his fingers uncomfortably. The story of Rockgut's son reminded him all too much of Manfridi and Johnson. Rockgut continued his expression nostalgic, almost lost in the past, "I made the mistake of letting him in on the family business. Lost him to the Squirrels ten years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that's all in the past now," Rockgut handed Skipper back the file, "You got a kid?"

"No." Skipper was honestly surprised Rockgut hadn't done a full background search on him, or at least kept updated.

"Didn't think you and the reporter were that serious. Well, if you ever do, keep 'em out of all this. It's too late for us, but we owe it to them to give 'em a chance." Skipper could see real sadness in the man's eyes, making him look, not so much like the feared criminal he was but, a tired old man, who'd been carrying his burden for too long. The older man stood up, "Well, I think it's about time we got going, before Hans blows his top." Skipper smiled, imagining just how frustrated Hans must be getting at their increasingly frequent conversations.

"Mr Rockgut," Hans, who had been waiting in the outer office, approached his employer, as he exited the room. However, he stopped, his manner becoming frigid, as soon as he saw Skipper, "... I didn't know _you_ were here."

"Just the monthly status report, Hans. No need to declare war." Skipper replied, his tone similar. Hans turned his back to Skipper.

"I have my monthly report, sir." Hans extended a file similar to the one Skipper had given Rockgut.

"Your report was due last week." Rockgut replied.

"Sorry sir, there were complications," Hans glared at Skipper, who continued to smirk. Skipper knew exactly what those complications were, "It had something to do with the Danish secret service barging through our offices and partially destroying our records in a hunt for their public enemy no. 1. I don't suppose Captain Grant would have anything to do with that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Skipper replied glibly.

"Stop acting like eight year olds," Rockgut ordered.

"Sorry sir."

"Sorry, _Buck_," Skipper put extra emphasis on the name, revelling in Hans' ever increasing anger.

* * *

**August 4****th**** 1950**

"So what was it you wanted to call a meeting about?" Skipper asked impatiently, "Me and Marlene want to catch the matinee."

"I think you'd better listen to this," Kowalski switched on a tape. The team had bugged all of Rockgut's offices. Every day a different member of the team was assigned to listen. Today was Kowalski's turn.

_"Mr Rockgut, he's only trying to get you to name him heir!" Hans shouted._

_"And what are you trying to do?" Rockgut answered. The two were in the middle of a heated argument._

_"I've been with you since I moved from Denmark. I deserve to be chosen."_

_"Neither of you do!" There was a sound of something banging against the table, probably Rockgut's fist, "Because you two insist on acting like children, you've convinced me that neither of you would be able to run the Rock hoppers, since you'd be too busy fighting each other. No, Hans, I'm postponing my retirement for another year, or at least until you two learn to behave yourselves."_

Skipper switched off the tape. "That's not good." Private looked slightly puzzled.

"Doesn't that mean we just wait another year?" Private asked.

"In three months the mission comes up for review. Nigel's not sure how long he can keep up approval," Kowalski replied, "We need to find out who he's picked, and get him to retire."

"I think he's picked me." Skipper announced after some thought.

"'a' ready?" Rico asked incredulously.

"Yes, we had a nice long heart to heart talk yesterday, and I think his conversation with Hans clinches it. Still, we'd need to get our hands on the will to be sure..."

"Then it's going to be a mystery for some time," Kowalski answered, "Nobody but him knows where he put it. The lawyer who drew it up is dead, and the firm, which has no idea what's in the will, is the executor. I might be able to find out through..."

"But it would take too long." Skipper finished grimly.

* * *

**September 10th 1950**

"Make one move, and I blow your head off." Skipper froze. There weren't many people who could sneak up on him, but apparently Hans could. Skipper had been about to get into his car when Hans had first alerted him to his presence, "Get in the car." Skipper did as he was told. Right now, there was nothing he could do, but hopefully he'd keep Hans talking long enough to make a mistake.

"Being a sore loser Hans? Killing me won't put you in charge of the Rockhoppers, and I doubt you're in league with Kowalski." Skipper answered reaching into his pocket.

"Keep your hands where I can see them. Now, start driving."

"Where to guvnor?" Skipper mocked.

"Shut up. I've got some questions."

"Ask away." As much as Skipper was enjoying taunting Hans, he realised from the man's expression that, despite the fact it would be a bad idea to shoot him now, if he kept taunting him he might.

"Two weeks ago Rockgut suffered a heart attack."

"What's so strange about that? He was in his late fifties."

"The timing seemed rather convenient for you, especially since he managed to live just long enough to name you heir," Hans answered, "Turn left at the next block." Skipper turned off the busy street, onto a quieter road heading out of the city. Skipper had a feeling he knew where he was headed. An astonished officer stared at them as they passed by, but did nothing. Hans wasn't exactly concealing his weapon, but after what happened to Officer X, most officers wanted to see Skipper dead, or were too scared to interfere. Either way, skipper was on his own.

"It was in a room full of people, a room full of witnesses. The coroner announced death by natural causes."

"The coroner recently bought a brand new sports car, something he shouldn't have been able to afford. My own investigation discovered a certain rare and fast acting poison in his coffee, which gives the impression of a natural heart attack to the untrained examiner."

"Do you know what's so ironic about this conversation..."

"We're here. Pull over."

"I was actually on my way to do exactly the same thing." Skipper explained, pulling up in front of an old, seemingly abandoned tenement, in an area slated for demolition.

"Get out of the car. You were on the way to do the same thing?"

"Yes. When you think about it, yes I was chumming up to the late Mr Rockgut, but I heard from certain confidential resources, that he was going to cut you out of the will. If you gave him time to get to his lawyers…well, you were better off taking your chances," Skipper stepped out of the car, "Now, my turn to ask the questions, what have you got to gain from my death? The rest of my team's wrath?"

"It's better than watching you hand an empire over to the cops," At this, Skipper was slightly taken aback, "Yes Skipper, I've had my suspicions, but your reaction just proved them. On your knees." Skipper had his back to Hans, but was able to see the man's reflection in an old mirror in one of the rooms in which the window was broken. That was the only reason Skipper was able to see the man had raised the gun to the back of his head. It was now or never.

Skipper's elbow connected with Hans' stomach, temporarily stunning him. The gun went off, but the shot was wild, and nowhere near Skipper. Skipper tried to wrench the gun from Hans' grasp, but only knocked it across the pavement. Hans broke free of Skipper's grasp, making a dive for the gun. Just as Hans grabbed the gun, Skipper drew his own, shooting Hans' gun hand. The wounded man dropped the firearm, crying out in pain.

"Now, Hans, you're going to tell me the truth. Why do you want me dead?"

"Denmark '45." Hans' eyes burned with hatred. Now he mentioned it, Skipper had always thought the Dane seemed strangely familiar.

"Puffin!? Professor Hornet's second in command?"

"Yes, they did a rather good job on my new look."

"You already framed me, what more do you want?"

"You always ruin everything," Hans spat, "You ruined Denmark, when you and your team turned up. You ruined things here too," Hans' smile was bordering on crazed as he nursed his bleeding hand, "What have I got to lose, Skippar? I'm dead anyway once you figured out who I was, which was only a matter of time," Hans watched Skipper raise the firearm from his knee to his head, "Yes, Skippar, go ahead and kill me. Prove to Nigel that you are as bad as they say you are." Skipper stopped.

"You'd like that." Skipper picked the blood-stained gun up from the pavement in front of Hans, before returning his own to its shoulder holster, all the time keeping the other gun on the slippery puffin, "Me, court martialled. Nigel wouldn't be able to cover up an outright murder, and you're too important to just disappear. I'm going to let you go," Hans looked at him as if he hadn't heard right, "Let's see how long you last," skipper smiled as it dawned on Hans just what he was doing, "In Lobster infested territory." With one swift movement, Skipper hit Hans over the head with the gun, and began to drag him to the car.

* * *

"Hans Svendsen, you were waiting to take over as head of the Danish branch of RAT, until Skipper was assigned to your case," Blowhole, a tall imposing man, even in his wheel chair, with a strange contraption in the place of his right eye glanced at the man standing before him, "Oh, I know how it feels, to be beaten by them. I know all too well. He messed things for me too," Hans just glared at him, saying nothing, "Now, I want to know everything you know about the Penguins."

"Is that an alliance?" Hans replied.

"A job offer," Hans scowled. He wasn't going to take orders from some Dr Mammal Fish. The room was empty; he could take this Blowhole easily. Hans lunged forward, lashing out with the piece of broken glass he'd pocketed when he was first captured. He was weak, though Blowhole had had his hand patched and his other wounds, inflicted by the group of Lobsters who'd found him first, attended to. Immediately, Blowhole grabbed the man's arm, twisting it painfully behind his back, "Do not underestimate me, Svendsen. I may be in a wheel chair, due to a certain accident caused our mutual friends, but I am still by far your better. Do we have an agreement?" Blowhole twisted Hans' arm harder.

"YES! YES!" Hans screamed. Blowhole released the arm.

"Good," The doors opened, and two men in dark suits with bright red ties, nicknamed lobsters, entered, "They will show you to your quarters.


	9. Chapter 9

**December 11****th****1950**

At six o'clock in the morning, Skipper put down the morning paper that he had been reading at the breakfast table, kissed Marlene goodbye, picked up his coat and set off for the office. He'd almost gotten to the station when he realised he'd left his briefcase behind.

He was just in view of the house when he noticed Marlene leave. She normally didn't leave for the Central till eight. That in itself were somewhat suspicious, but the way she cautiously glanced up and down, was suspicious enough that Skipper ducked behind a wall, almost out of instinct. When he looked back around, he saw Marlene step out the door, carrying his old service duffle bag (officially, he'd never left), and placing his handheld semi-automatic in her coat pocket. Now if that wasn't suspicious, he didn't know what was.

In the next few hours, Marlene stopped off at several shops, and the duffle bag got bulkier and bulkier. He still had yet to find out the contents of the bag, and the shops were too general to give any clue, but when plotted on a map the various locations made almost a complete circle around Dolphin territory. It was then he once again noticed that Marlene was on the move, and he continued to follow her until she reached the last place he'd expected her to stop at.

Once again, she looked around cautiously, before knocking rapidly four times on the door. She then waited four seconds and repeated the action. The door opened, and Kowalski answered.

"I've got it. He doesn't suspect a thing." Marlene whispered, handing him the bag before entering. Skipper thought back to the last time he'd seen Hans: _"Killing me won't put you in charge of the Rockhoppers, and I doubt you're in league with Kowalski."_ He'd made the statement quickly to prove a point, but it wasn't until now that he realised the only thing standing between Kowalski and owning New York was him, and the man had already demonstrated he was far from incorruptible.

"Good. We have to set it up quickly before he gets back." The door shut, and Skipper was left alone out in the snow. Immediately he moved around to one of the lower windows, getting a good view of what was going on inside.

Marlene removed her coat, searching about for the wooden coat stand.

"Here, I'll take that," Private offered, taking the garment and hanging it up on one of the gun racks on the wall.

"Where'd the coat stand go?" Marlene asked. Before Private could open his mouth to speak, Kowalski was already giving Marlene a full explanation.

"Well, I altered the molecular structure, and…"

"Suffice to say, we shan't be seeing it again." Doris finished before Kowalski got going. He'd been known to speak for over four hours if left to his own devices.

"Alright, so I managed to sneak the decorations in without Skipper knowing…"

"Marlene…" Kowalski began to ask, uncomfortably, "I know this was after we arranged all this, but he gave us specific instructions that we should not fall prey to the Space Squid conspiracy that is Christmas decorations."

"But Skipper isn't here, is he?" Marlene replied, a twinkle in her eye.

"K'walski does have a point Marlene," Private concurred gravely, "Asking us to disobey a senior officer is a serious offence Marlene."

"He's not my senior officer," Marlene stated, much to the annoyance of the others. This was not by far the first time she'd said that, "Anyway, since Skipper's out, I think your commanding officer's girlfriend is in charge."

"Well, technically," Kowalski began to explain, "It should be the first lieutenant…" Marlene rolled her eyes.

"I second that." Doris added, though Marlene noticed that for most of the encounter, she'd been firstly, strangely quiet, and secondly, desperately avoiding eye contact with her boyfriend.

"Just forget the rules for once, Kowalski." Marlene sighed.

"I was going to say:" Kowalski continued somewhat disgruntled, "and I'm quite certain he has no objections."

"If it sooths your ego, pal." Marlene muttered.

* * *

**January 4****th****1951**

Doris' suitcase seemed to be made of lead as she approached the door to Kowalski's apartment. She'd never been there during the day, and probably never would again. She was dressed in a modest travelling suit, one of her own, not one Kowalski had bought her, her blond hair unusually disorderly. She carried a new leather suitcase, devoid of any stickers noting places of travel, carrying only necessities. She wanted to take as little baggage as possible. The more she took, the more memories came with it.

"Hello Doris," Kowalski greeted, opening the door, slightly surprised that she had turned up at the apartment. That was when he noticed her expression, "Doris? What's wrong?" Doris remained in the doorway. She had been getting more and more depressed the last couple of days. He honestly couldn't fathom why.

"I'm leaving." Doris replied dully. Kowalski could see her eyes were red and her make-up smudged. She'd been crying.

"Doris...!?"

"I can't take it anymore... I just can't..."

"Doris..." Kowalski couldn't believe what was happening, "If Blowhole's found out..."

"No, it's not that. I'll continue to tell you what he's up to, but..." Doris looked down at her feet. It was now or never, "Kowalski… I fell in love," Doris choked, "… with a young agent…"

"Doris…"

"He was tall, handsome, and smart. He had quite the career ahead of him too. You'd probably like him…"

"I…" Kowalski didn't know if he should be enraged or in tears. She'd found another guy. Another guy, "I…"

"You never were very good at feelings," Doris chuckled, smiling as best she could through her tears, "You've completely misunderstood what I'm saying."

"I don't…"

"Just listen," a tear trickled down her cheek smudging her mascara, "I've never loved anyone quite like I loved him. I even wanted to get married," Doris looked down at the suitcase in her hands, "Then one day he left on a mission," her eyes returned to Kowalski, "and I waited. I waited for years. Then I realised… I realised…" Doris paused, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, "He wasn't coming back."

"I'm… I'm sorry." Kowalski stuttered, noting the past tense.

"No, silly," Doris moved a stray strand of hair from her face, "he was you, Kowalski."

"I don't understand…"

"That young man I met in Munich in 1943 isn't you anymore. I don't know what happened to that young man, whether he's still hiding somewhere or… or if he's gone, but I can't keep waiting for him. I need to move on."

"I haven't changed Doris," Kowalski pleaded as the situation dawned on him, "It's all just an act. It's just a mission. It'll be over in a year, and then we can go back to Munich… We can get married and…"

"It's not a mission Kowalski. It's become something else. Something that scares me. You scare me," Doris continued, "I think it was when I realised that I hadn't said this because I feared for my life, or maybe when I saw the way that you look at any other man who looks at me. I… Goodbye Kowalski."

Kowalski stared at the suitcase in her hands.

"I..."

"I know you could have me followed or…" Doris swallowed, displaying the aforementioned fear on her face, "Don't try and stop me," then she seemed to recover, standing a few inches taller than the slumped form before, "I'll send Skipper a telegram every week detailing Blowhole's movements. I will do this purely out of duty; my father needs to be captured before he hurts anyone else," Doris opened the door to the taxi, "Don't try and contact me at the telegram's address, a friend will be forwarding them to you."

"Doris... Don't..."

"Goodbye Kowalski." Doris walked out onto the sidewalk, towards a waiting taxi, opening the door. Then she turned around, a look of pure desperation on her face, "You could quit the team," she pleaded, "we could run away together… we could get married…" Doris didn't finish her sentence. She knew what Kowalski was going to say before he even said it.

"I can't."

Kowalski had expected her to be furious at the answer, but all she did was nod. She was expecting that. She stepped into the cab and shut the door. Kowalski watched as it drove off towards the train station.

* * *

Kowalski entered the office building the team had purchased under the shell corporation 'Consolidated Amalgamated Steel': the team's public headquarters, his shoulders slumped, his expression resembling that of one who had lost everything. His second in command, Henrietta Blue was waiting for him. She was dressed in a blue tailored suit, her black hair, the same colour as her suit in the right lighting, pinned up, not a strand out of place.

"Information teams report Miss Blowhole at the train station. You seem unusually depressed. From that I can only conclude that she has left you," Miss Blue deduced emotionlessly. Kowalski said nothing, sitting down at his desk with a sigh, "Do you want me to track her down, sir?" For a few moments, nothing was said.

"No." Kowalski replied, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling; anything to avoid eye contact.

"Mr Kowalski," Henrietta's eyes were expressionless as usual beneath her cat's eye glasses, "She knows enough about our operations to compromise us. She is a potential threat."

"No..." Kowalski hazarded a glance at Miss Blue, "She has valuable information on Blowhole." Both Kowalski and Miss Blue knew this was an excuse, but Kowalski was the boss. Kowalski, when later questioned by Skipper would reply that he honestly didn't know why he spared her, but he knew, though he wouldn't admit it, even to himself, he let her go, because she was right.


	10. Chapter 10

**February 2****nd**** 1951**

"Thanks for keeping me company tonight, Private," Marlene thanked, shaking the rain off her umbrella, before looking about the HQ for a place to hang it. It was quite common for Marlene to come over in the evenings, at least, since she'd moved in with Skipper. He was gone much of the time, and most of Marlene's friends shunned her due to her connection to the Penguins.

"Oh, I'll take that for you. I do apologise, the place is a mess," Private replied as he took the coat from her.

"I really don't understand why Skipper's always out so late. He comes home at six in the evenings, then leaves at seven, and doesn't come back 'till five in the morning." Private bit his lip, he didn't like where this was going, "then he leaves for work at nine, looking absolutely exhausted. I've caught him sleeping at his desk several times."

"I don't think Skipper would see another woman…"

"I didn't mean that, no, I know he's not," Private breathed a sigh of relief, "Well, if you promise not to tell Skipper…"

"You have my word, I will say nothing." Private replied.

"I… followed him one night, back when I first started seeing him. He was threatening to throw someone off the roof. Well, I guess he does a lot of his 'work' at night."

"I can see why you wanted that kept confidential. Skipper doesn't like being followed. "

"I know, I considered telling him," Marlene smiled sheepishly, "Frankly, I'm just too scared."

"Skippah can be quite intimidating at times."

"Y'think?" Marlene laughed, "It's been his job for the last year."

"It's been a difficult year for him, losing Manfridi and Johnson, Blowhole turning up, suddenly having to manage an entire city. I don't really blame him if he's a bit cranky. He's doing much better than normal under the circumstances, actually."

"Well, I'd hate to see normal."

* * *

**November 7****th**** 1951**

Private was staring out the window of the HQ, watching the traffic on the street below. Skipper had called a meeting, requesting that the whole team be present, though still hadn't told anyone why. In fact, he hadn't really given them any answers more specific than 'classified'. Suddenly, Private's eyes narrowed, as he spotted a familiar face on the sidewalk below, "Skippah?" Skipper turned around, "Is that Uncle Nigel?" skipper looked calmly out the window of the HQ.

"Yes, that is." He answered, unsurprised.

"But, didn't you say that the HQ was so secret, not even Uncle Nigel knows where it is?"

"He worked it out."

"He what?!" Kowalski jumped up from his chair, where he'd been randomly scribbling mathematical equations on his clipboard, out of sheer boredom. Private saw his eyes dart towards his new radio set, as if wishing it would turn invisible.

"Do you have something to hide, Kowalski?" Skipper asked sternly.

"N... N... No, sir."

"Of course you do. Every one of us does and Nigel knows about all of it," Kowalski turned pale, "There's just nothing he can do." The room, with the exception of Private, noticeably relaxed.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" Skipper shouted. The door opened and Agent Nigel walked in. Private stood to attention.

"At ease _soldier_," Nigel looked on at the four men with disapproval. The fact that his nephew had been the only one to follow proper courtesy was not lost on him, nor was his emphasis on the singular version of the word lost on Private.

"Hello Uncle Nigel," Private greeted, trying to lighten the mood, though it seemed forced, "Um…would you like a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, Private. Skipper has something important to talk to you about." Nigel answered icily.

"What was so important you couldn't tell us in a telegram?" Kowalski asked.

"Hasn't Skipper told you?" Skipper, was leant back in his chair, obviously not sharing his superiors concern, or so he wanted it to seem; though Private could tell by the way his every movement seemed impeccably controlled, almost as if plotted on a graph, that he was not as relaxed as he wanted everyone to believe, "Last week I ordered Skipper to shut down the Penguins," Private could see Rico and Kowalski cast nervous glances at their leader, "He refused."

"Skippah?!"

"Nigel, I've said this once, though I figured you wouldn't listen, and now I'm going to say it again in front of the team," Skipper stood up, and faced Nigel, despite the fact he was the shorter of the two which didn't do much for the dramatic effect, "If I shut down the Penguins now, everything we've worked for goes out the window."

"Rubbish. The power's corrupted you, and you can't give it up," Private, and the rest of the room watched Skipper turn redder and redder, "Admit it, Skipper." This was one of those topics, along with the necessity to cut back on pollution that automatically drove Skipper over the edge.

"The power hasn't corrupted me!" Skipper snapped, glaring at Nigel, "I'm trying to save this city."

"Then you're too arrogant to see it," Nigel turned to Private, who was looking very uncomfortable, "Why do we work in teams, Timothy?"

"S...Sir," Private stuttered. Nigel had just asked him to pick sides. By answering his question, he'd be supporting Nigel's argument, something Skipper wouldn't take kindly to. But then, Nigel was right, "I... I don't know, sir."

"Of course you..." Nigel stopped, the look on his nephew's face made him realise what a difficult position he'd put him in, "...don't. The reason we work in teams, Skipper, is you can't save the world on your own."

"They said that about RAT, and I did end up 'saving the world on my own'."

"With RAT, you got lucky. What you aren't seeing is that the continued existence of the Penguins has made the problem you were assigned to combat worse. You can still make things right if you stand down now."

"The Blowhole argument again?"

"You've brought one of the most feared war criminals to America, armed him, and set him on a goal that could get millions killed. You know he'd think nothing of nuking the entire city just to get you, and he probably could do it."

"My answer's no, Nigel. That's final."

"If you don't shut this down, I'll shut you down." Nigel threatened.

"I'd like to see you try."

* * *

**November 8****th**** 1951**

Once again Nigel found himself standing before the board, only this time, he'd called the meeting. He could have tried to stall for time, but he might as well get it over with. At least, that was the conclusion he and Brigadier General Lacy had come to, "Yesterday I spoke to the team," the room, was hushed. Everyone could tell from Nigel's tone of voice, this was serious, "the mission failed."

"So, why don't you shut them down?" Agent Peters, a critic of the scheme from the start asked.

"We… We can't. They've become too powerful… they're self-reliant."

"You told us that was impossible. You said those four men couldn't be corrupted!"

"I was wrong," Nigel couldn't bear to look at the reactions of the other men, instead opting to stare at the table in front of him. After a few seconds, he worked up the courage to continue, "Operation: Join and Destroy failed," Nigel repeated, though more to himself, "The Penguins have, at this point, officially gone rogue."

The room fell into a shocked silence for several minutes. All that could be heard was the rustle of paper as people fidgeted with the pages of the documents to try to break the tension in the room, the noise rising to a crescendo as each realised their efforts were ignored, and increased the noise, though none daring to speak.

"Essentially, what you're telling us," One of the politicians seated at the table pointed out, "Is that we have just created our own worst enemy." The rest of the room didn't need to wait for Nigel's reply.

"Agent Nigel, this is unacceptable…!"

"…will be court martialled…" Nigel could hear the men in the room shouting out every possible way to ruin his career. He'd heard stories of other men in his position, but the results of their mistakes had rarely been so drastic.

"Would all of you be quiet!" Peters shouted. The room, including Lacy, who had succumbed to the panic, stopped, "Every minute we waste, the Penguins get closer to being unstoppable. Try thinking of solutions instead of ways to ruin Nigel's life. We can do that later, and I guarantee," Peters glared at Nigel to reinforce his point, "a date will be set aside for that." With the room's attention, Peterson continued, "Now, Agent Nigel, do you have any possible solutions?"

"I'm working on something," Nigel answered, "I have a… contact who might be able to find a chink in their armour, or at least keep them somewhat under control."

"So you've got something on Grant?"

"I resent that statement, Peters. No, I always build in a contingency. I suppose you could say I have a man on the inside."

* * *

"…If you need to contact me in an emergency, the frequency is…"

"Uncle Nigel, I came to you because I think what the team is doing is wrong, and I want to leave," Private protested.

Nigel gave him a concerned look, "Timmy…"

"I just don't feel comfortable outright spying on them," Private continued to fiddle with the miniature microphone Nigel had given him, "They're practically… family. We've been through everything together, Nairobi surprise parties, talent shows with rocket fuel and paper lanterns…"

"Private, I could give you a huge speech about how I'm asking you to do this for your country…"

"We're English."

"You know what I mean. No, the reason why I'm asking you to do this is because if you just leave the team, you're going to be prosecuted as an accomplice. Department D will have to claim they had nothing to do with the Penguins, but I've made a deal with the DA's office, if you turn double, you won't be prosecuted," Nigel stood up from his desk, pacing the small office. This was always what he did when he was worried, "It's too late for me, I've already backed the wrong horse, but I don't want to you to spend the rest of your life on the run."

"Is that what will happen to Skippah, if I bring him in? I mean, he'd escape easily, but…" Private asked. Nigel realised he'd cornered himself with his own argument. He'd been too busy trying to protect his nephew to consider the scenario in which the boy outright refused to do it.

"He's done terrible things…" Private seemed unconvinced. Nigel had to admit, if there was one thing Skipper could do, it was inspire loyalty. It was then he realised what he was going to have to do. Private was young and naive, and wouldn't know if he was lying, "I've managed to secure them immunity from prosecution too, provided you bring them in." Nigel just hoped Private would thank him for it later, but he doubted it. Whatever way he spun it, he was manipulating his nephew.

"It's just like that bit old legend you told me when I was little, The Lost Treasure of the Golden Squirrel. You know that bit where they all look into the eyes of the Squirrel?" Private looked like he was about to cry, "They've looked into the eyes of the Squirrel and… and…" Private's lip trembled and a single tear trickled down Private's cheek, "I don't want Skippah to be lost."

"They won't be lost, Private," Nigel comforted, once again seeing the nine year old that would come down to his cottage in Kent for the summer break, "you can still save them."


	11. Chapter 11

**March 19****th**** 1952**

"So, is this the HQ?" the woman asked as she walked down the corridors of the skyscraper, "I never imagined it would be so big."

"No," Alex laughed, "That's secret. This is just where everything happens, so if you like, it kinda is the headquarters," the man turned down one of the corridors bustling with people, "this way Miss Phillips."

"Aw, call me Lulu. Everyone does," Lulu replied.

"You know, I'd think before they put you on as Mr Grant's secretary, you'd know how the place works."

"I haven't a clue. It was my boyfriend who got me the job."

"Well, that's what I'm here for, to show you around," her guide replied as they stepped into the elevator, "Mr Grant won't cut you any slack even on day one, but it will be mostly Mr Kowalski you deal with. He's the one who really runs things 'round here. Your boss is more into doing the stuff you'd think came out of some kind of picture show until you see it yourself. The first time you see him jumping out of the window on an exploding building, absolutely priceless."

"Well I hope I'm lucky enough to see one of his exploits."

"It's not so rare. I'd give it a week before something goes wrong."

"So he's just the face the public sees?"

"No, he's in charge, he just doesn't do the dull stuff. By the way, you know any military jargon?"

"My sister was in the WRNS. Why do you ask?"

"Never met a wren before." Alex mused.

"That was my sister, I was a little young at the time."

"Well, I really shouldn't give you any hints, but Mr Grant likes to intimidate the newbies when they first start," Alex said, gazing into her warm brown eyes, "but it would give you a few extra points off the bat if you use some of that when dealin' with him. Alright, this is our floor."

The two fought their way out of the crowded elevator and started at a brisk pace down an extremely crowded corridor that exited at an outer office where several typists sat.

"Lionel and Miss Philips reporting for inspection," he told the receptionist and they were automatically let through into the less densely packed typing area.

"So what manor of man is Mr Kowalski?" Lulu asked as they walked towards the door labelled, Peter Kowalski, COO*, "any tips on how to get on his good side?"

"He's a nice sort of guy, sometimes a little shy at times. I'll give you this piece of advice, though. Keep your notepad out. He'll expect you to keep up with him."

Alex knocked on the door.

"Newton's knickerbocker glory!" a man inside exclaimed in exasperation, "Sorry, who?"

"Alex Lionel and Miss Philips, sir!" Alex called through the door.

"Right, come in." the other man ordered. Alex opened the door. Inside there were about two or three other people, obviously engaged in some important discussion. Lulu opened her mouth to introduce herself but Alex quickly beckoned for her to shut it, motioning to her to stand, almost as if to attention, next to him as the conversation continued.

"I understand your discontent, Mr Roy," a woman in a dark blue pinstripe suit spoke in almost a monotone, her face devoid of expression, "However, I suggest you abide by our suggestions."

"Listen, that Barry character is digging a little too deep…" Mr Roy, a flustered politician protested.

"Sorry Miss Philips," Kowalski finally acknowledged her presence, "I know I had you scheduled for now, but this isn't a good time."

"Yes, sir." Alex answered smartly. Lulu could see the woman, who frankly, creeped her out, looking her up and down suspiciously.

"Still," Kowalski grabbed a pen and scribbled a note on a scrap of paper, "Could you take this down to Private?" Lulu looked slightly confused by the name, but the scientist's attention was no longer solely on her, "Call it your first assignment. Now, I understand that he has enough evidence to put you away, but if you give in to his threats…" Lulu picked up the piece of paper, and she and her guide were about to leave when she was called back, "Oh, and if you're going downstairs, could you take something this down to the lab?" the man rummaged about in a desk drawer bringing out a clear vial, "Make sure it isn't dropped or bumped. It won't be pretty."

"Yes sir." Lulu replied smartly, taking the vial and following her guide out of the door.

"That's all very easy for you to say," Roy continued to protest, "It's not you who's going to…"

"Good Galileo, how many times must I repeat myself…"

* * *

Lulu was once again in an elevator, though this time it was empty, save her and Alex. Her guide had told her that due to the fact she was carrying a chemical he assumed he had permission to use the executive elevator, so the carriage was empty, at least until the elevator stopped and a man, about Kowalski's height, but who's build was not the wiry frame of the scientist but more akin to some adventurer in the features, entered. He smiled at her, though there was something wrong with the smile, apart from the scar that cut across his mouth.

"Sir." Alex nodded politely. Lulu decided it was best to follow suit.

"Whacha name, doll?" the man asked.

"Miss Peterson, sir, but everyone calls me Lulu. I'm Mr Grant's new secretary," she replied, "I assume your Mr Rico?" She'd seen a photograph of the man in a newspaper several years ago, though the photograph was almost ten years old. Alex looked like he was going to collapse. Obviously things weren't as relaxed here as they were at her former employment.

"Correct." The man smiled again. There was definitely something unnerving about him. Fortunately the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Rico walked out, towards a young blond standing just outside, "See ya 'round, sugar." He bid farewell, apparently ignoring the blond now clinging to his arm. The doors shut again.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to him." Alex answered in a tone desperate to reassure that which was futile to attempt to do so, "Just be careful around him though, being a… well, decent lookin' gal."

"Yeah, sure." Lola replied. That kinda went without saying.

"Here's our floor."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Miss Philips," A much younger man, the first to know her name, greeted.

"You can call me Lulu" Lulu greeted chirpily, testing her wings, "I'm looking for a…Private?" the young man smiled, but there was something sad about his expression.

"Then you've found him," the young man greeted, though he seemed little more than a boy. He was cute in a teen idol style, with his golden hair and big blue eyes. In fact, she seemed to be only an inch or two shorter than him. Lulu removed the note from her pocket, "Mr Kowalski sent…"

"Good god, what's K'walski given you!" Private exclaimed, carefully, but swiftly removing the vial from her other hand.

"Mr Kowalski instructed me to take that to…"

"I'll take care of that, don't you worry," Private insisted, "You really must be careful with what he gives you. If it's something life threatening, you really ought to let him know, he won't be offended. He just forgets sometimes, he's not used to dealing with normal people."

"Wait…" Lola asked slightly confused.

"Lulu, you've been given a vial of nitro-glycerine." Private stated sternly. Lulu looked as if she was going to feint, "Do you mind if I take a look at that?" Private asked the catatonic girl, gently extracting the note from her hand. He quickly skimmed through it, before placing it in his pocket, "Ah yes, he says he thinks Skippah will be coming back soon and wants certain things returned to his office without their disappearance being noted." Private flashed a mysterious smile, but like all his expressions, seemed slightly sad, almost ghostly. Lulu could easily imagine that the boy before her was but a shadow of his former self, "I think this would be a good time for you to meet Skippah, anyway."

"I'll take her up." Alex replied.

"No, no, I'll take her myself. I've nothing much more to do today. Take an early lunch." Private replied.

"Yes sir." Alex answered, leaving. It was obvious that out of the four Penguins, he liked Private best. Lulu had to agree with him.

"This building is quite the rabbit warren," Private sighed, "I know someone around here has a map I could give you, as long as Skippah doesn't find out. He gets rather sensitive about that sort of information being handed out."

* * *

"Blake, I really need to get back to the Central," a brunette answered.

"Hello Marlene." Private greeted as he stepped out of the elevator.

"Hi yourself, Private." The woman greeted, before turning back to the man she was speaking to, of whose identity was not in question. This was the famous Blake Grant himself.

"Good day at the office?"

"I haven't gotten there yet. First we went to a lecture, then Skipper thought I might be interested in sitting in on a meeting, now he wants to have a late lunch. The editor's gonna have my head."

"Oh I'm sure it won't be that bad," Private reassured.

"See ya, Private." Marlene called as she dashed into the elevator. Private then walked up to Skipper, Lulu boldly following.

"Skippah, this is Miss Phillips, your new secretary." Private introduced.

"You can call me Lulu, everyone does." Lulu added.

"How do you do, ma'am?" Skipper greeted crisply, "Where's the hipster who was supposed to be showing you around?"

"Private let him take an early lunch." Lulu replied.

"Good. Now, I want you to take notes," Skipper ordered, getting strait to business as Lulu fumbled to find her notepad, "According to current data, it is clear that the spike in share price of Maggufium Chemicals was no accident…"

"It's just her first day Skippah," Private pleaded, "take it easy on her."

"Private, I need those papers Kowalski _borrowed_ from me," Skipper answered sternly. Alex was right, he didn't cut her any slack, "Now, Miss Philips, I'll need you to think of a good excuse to get me out of tonight's dinner. Kowalski gives it a fancy name, public relations or somethin', but I'm not sittin' around listening to people go on about the shampoo they use on their poodle. You come up with a decent enough excuse, you've got the job."

*Corporate Operating Officer


	12. Chapter 12

**March 20****th**** 1952**

Marlene took out her notepad and pencil, "So, Mr…"

"Doctor." He corrected.

"…Dr Bottlenose, you say that you're a Swiss doctor, with a lot of money, who's decided to take on the Penguins."

"Correct."

"Alright, so you have no idea why the gold bars your fortune is in are stamped with a swastika?" Marlene asked. She knew she was taking a risk, questioning Dr Bottlenose, AKA Dr Blowhole about his cover story, but the information Skipper had given her and a couple of quotes from Blowhole himself would give her the scoop of the century: New criminal mastermind is actually escaped Nazi war criminal: Dr Blowhole.

"I have never set eyes on these alleged bars of gold. You may quote me as saying so."

"DADDY!" a voice shouted from the other room.

"Please excuse me, Miss Roberts," Blowhole sighed, "Yes Francis?"

"Julian's double booked me again!" the young man wined.

"I'll have a word with him, I'm sure he'll make the appropriate cancelations."

"What about the fact that the majority of times you seen it is with the distinctive 'Lobster' guards, that Dr Blowhole was famously guarded by." Marlene returned to the topic at hand.

"They're mercenaries. Now that Blowhole is behind bars, I pay them to work for me. Miss Roberts, I have an extremely busy day, as you may have realised from my son's interruption..." Marlene stood up, seeing two lobsters move towards her.

"What did I say?" She asked sarcastically.

"They're just here to make sure you find the exit," Marlene cursed silently. She'd been looking forward to a good look at Blowhole's filing cabinet; the interview was only the way in, "My grudge is with your favourite Pen-gu-in, not with you and I doubt my son would like you on his bad side, as you are well acquainted with the theatre reviewer."

* * *

Marlene stepped out of a taxi, and walked towards the Daily Central head office.

"My, my, my, my, my, if it isn't Marlene Roberts." Marlene turned around at the sound of the unfortunately familiar voice.

"What do you want, Barry?" Marlene asked. Barry was a reporter for a local scandal sheet. He was the kind of guy who could dig up dirt on Mary Poppins, and get away with it. He could also smell a story like a shark smells blood.

"Why, Marlene, you're going to be the talk of the town!" He laughed, smiling in a way that suggested less than appropriate ideas. Marlene turned away disgusted, and began to walk towards the office building. Unfortunately, he ran after her, "Hey, toots, I only want to ask a few questions."

"Go away, Barry. You'll get nothing from me," Marlene glared at him.

"Aren't you curious to find out the story I'm working on?" Barry asked stepping a bit too close for comfort, "It concerns you and your boyfriend..."

"Listen Barry, I really suggest you leave me alone. If Blake saw you talking like that to me..."

"Blake? Already?" Marlene cursed under her breath. Noting this, Barry let out a fake gasp, an exaggerated expression of shock on his face, "My, my, my, my, my how very un ladylike, Marlene," he ran a few paces ahead of her, leaning against a nearby automobile, "You know, if you don't talk to me, I'll just dig it all up myself, which will be far less pretty."

Marlene turned around, only feet from the Daily Central.

"Alright, Barry. What are you working on?" She demanded. Barry immediately leapt to his feet, now standing only inches away from her. The man had so much energy he often resembled a frog hopping from branch to branch.

"People have noticed the fact that New York's most devoted anti mob activist is sleeping with the leader of the Penguins himself, and it's no assignment, it's been well over a year. Well, it's all just rumour right now..."

"Get lost." Marlene stated, entering the building. Yes her close friends and colleagues were well aware of her relationship, but having it shouted out to the entire country would outright ruin her chances of getting Pulitzer, and she certainly wasn't going to allow Skipper to use his 'influence'.

"You can't hide from the press!" Barry called after her.

"Don't I know." Marlene grumbled entering the building.

* * *

"Hi honey, had a nice day at work? Kept the body count under thirty?" Marlene asked dryly as she poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Did you?" Skipper replied in a similar tone, taking off his jacket, and tossing his newspaper onto the sofa, where he'd read it later, "I've noticed how much time you spend around that Julian Kingston."

"I'm interviewing him. He's one of the few people either brave, or in his case, stupid enough to give me hope of getting him to testify against you."

"Marlene, I'm fine with you indulging your little 'I'm going to make this city a better place' hobby to a certain extent, but that's going too far," Skipper ordered, "I think it's kinda' cute that your day job is trying to put me behind bars. I give you a lot more latitude than most reporters, hell, sometimes I throw you an exposé or two, but getting Julian to talk is just too far."

"You think what I do is just a game?!" Marlene shouted, "I gave up my career, opened myself up to public ridicule to be with you."

"Come on, sugar, we both know that's not true. Now, why don't we drop the 'we love each other façade and get real."

"Alright," Marlene stepped out of the kitchen, facing Skipper, "I don't love you and I never have. I just thought there was I could make a difference if I convinced who I thought had a pretty decent chance of being the next Buck Rockgut to reform. I thought maybe you'd learn to see the good in people, and stop trying to hurt them," Marlene shook her head bitterly, "Well, I see now that it's too late for that. You passed the point of no return years ago."

"What? You just worked that out, doll face?" Skipper laughed. Marlene scowled. She hated that nickname, "Well, _doll face_, you can put that in the 'mission in the failed from the start' category. You never had me fooled for one minute."

"So why keep me around? I guess you thought our little game was amusing."

"Spot on."

"Well, Skipper, you win. I quit," Marlene grabbed her coat and marched towards the door, "After all that, I think Doris had the right idea. I don't know why I ever tried to convince her otherwise." Marlene slammed the door behind her.

Skipper picked up the evening edition, and began to scan the headlines, the high percentage of articles by Marlene Roberts only rubbed salt in the wound. He could hear the potatoes boiling over in the kitchen. It didn't really matter, he'd probably only make it worse; he couldn't cook to save his life. Oh well, he'd just head back to the HQ when he felt hungry, and see what Private was making. Suddenly, a shot rang out. Skipper jumped out of the easy chair tossing his paper to the side. He grabbed his gun, and opened the door.

The sight that met his eyes, was the last thing he'd expected.

*Corporate Operating Officer


	13. Chapter 13

**March 20****th**** 1952**

Skipper looked down from his own doorstep at Marlene's dead body. He didn't need an autopsy to know she'd been shot through the heart; at least she'd died almost instantly. It was then that his eyes moved to the killer, who was stood next to the body, gun in his trembling hand.

"That's right, lady, nobody rats out the boss." He laughed, but the laugh was hollow and nervous, obviously forced. Skipper could tell from the horrified look in the young man's eyes, that he was barely holding himself together. He'd probably never killed before. The killer, not much more than 16, was one of the errand boys Skipper often used to communicate with other members of the team; when it came to business,

"What did you just do?" Skipper asked, his voice little more than a low whisper.

"S...She was gonna rat you out, boss. I heard her say, she'd gotten Kingston to talk," the killer took a nervous step back, "Miss Blue, she said in the briefing, if anyone's a liability, we have to get rid of them." skipper, though he'd never had any true feelings for her in the romance department, in fact he'd only needed her as a distraction, was filled with an emotion unusual to him: guilt. Still, he couldn't be seen as weak.

"You killed her, because you thought she was a possible liability?" Skipper muttered to himself, still trying to comprehend the fact she was dead.

"B...Boss? You aren't..." Skipper never gave the man a chance to finish his sentence; he'd shot the younger man through the heart, identically to Marlene.

* * *

**March 21****st**** 1952**

"Sergeant Rodger Park, Homicide," the detective introduced himself, displaying his badge. He was a tall, muscular man, in a khaki trench coat, "Are you Mr Grant?"

"You really have to ask?" Skipper answered, taking another sip of his coffee. A nosy neighbour, who probably didn't know he lived there, had called the police, who'd arrived before Kowalski could dispose of the bodies.

"You have my condolences, Mr Grant. I need to ask a few questions, just for the record. Now, you say that you killed in self-defence?"

"Are you questioning that?"

"No, we're just trying to find out what happened," the detective pulled out his notes, "Right, date, date, date…"

"March 21st." Skipper stated.

"Ah yes, the first day of spring. Now, you and Miss Roberts were having an argument..." Skipper placed a wad of twenties in the detective's hand.

"Why don't you say you asked, and don't? I'm really not in the mood for questions."

"Thank you, sir, but I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I like to make sure my notes are correct. I know last night was terrible experience, and I really wish I didn't have to bother you, but these questions won't take more than a few minutes," Rodger returned the money, seemingly unaware of the fact Skipper had attempted to bribe him. Still, the man seemed pretty harmless. He might as well answer the questions, "Now, you and Miss Roberts were having an argument just before the murder."

"Correct."

"A neighbour, a Miss Rhonda Walter, heard her say something to the effect that she was leaving you. She said she heard it through your kitchen window, which is opposite to her drawing room," Rodger shuffled through his notes, "I believe the exact words were: 'Well, Skipper. You win. I quit. After all that, I think Doris had the right idea. I don't know why I ever tried to convince her otherwise'. Now, who is this Doris?"

"A friend's ex. She left him a few months ago."

"And her full name?"

"She isn't involved."

"Then after that, you heard a shot, just outside the door?"

"Yes. Since Marlene was out there, I went out to check."

"And what happened when you got out there."

"Well, I saw, Marlene... Then I saw who killed her."

"Can you identify him?"

"Yes, he worked at a company I am the owner of, Consolidated Amalgamated Steel. He was laid off in a series of budget cuts."

"What exactly happened?"

"When I heard the shot, I'd naturally grabbed my gun for protection. Well, when he turned on me…" Skipper looked down at the coffee table, "I'm sure you know what happened next." Roger could see, despite the fact Skipper was trying his best to hide it, simply thinking about the matter distressed him. Roger considered himself a good judge of personality, and though he highly doubted Skipper had shot the other man in self-defence, yet he could see how much Miss Robert's death hurt him.

"I think I've clarified my notes, Mr Grant," Roger stood up from the table, "I'm sorry about your girl. I met her once. She was a lovely lady."

* * *

**November 33rd 1950**

Kowalski, dressed in a dark, formal, non-singed suit walked up behind Skipper, who wore his usual dark suit and tie.

"Skipper, the funeral is in an hour." Kowalski reminded softly.

"Thank you Kowalski." Skipper didn't turn around, but continued to stare out the window.

"I've put your suit in your room, Skippah." Private nodded to Skipper's current attire, which wasn't suitable for the upcoming funeral.

"I'm not going," The three other members of the team, well, not really Rico, stared at Skipper, aghast, "I've got a meeting."

"Skippah!" Private shouted, almost tearful. Private had been quite close friends with Marlene. It had always been proper, Private's affections still belonged to Cupid, and Skipper was fine with the arrangement, "It's Marlene's funeral! How can you go to a meeting!?"

"I've got a meeting, Private," Skipper's tone made it clear that he wasn't going to be questioned, "the show must go on."

"You loved her, Skippah," Private continued to protest, "You can't just treat her memory like a broken toy you've thrown away."

"I can because she was!" Skipper snapped, turning around, "I got bored of her. I never loved her. Sure, I didn't want her to die, but I'm not exactly crying over her loss. Meanwhile, I've got a multimillion dollar empire that won't run itself." Private stared at his senior officer.

"The Skippah I knew would never do that to a woman."

"Wake up and see the real world, Private."

Private couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd never wanted to accept the fact that Skipper wasn't the same man he was when he started the job. He hadn't wanted to believe Uncle Nigel was right, he'd told himself it was all part of the plan, that Skipper hadn't changed. Well, like Skipper said, he had to wake up and see the real world.

"I'm sorry, Nigel, but I can't do this anymore," Private whispered. Skipper's fist clenched. There was no doubt of what Private was admitting. In fact, over the past month he'd suspected Private was up to something, but thought he was just being a bit more paranoid than usual.

"You were spying on us for Nigel?!" Skipper screamed, outraged, "One of my own men, a spy!"

"You're out of control, Skippah." Skipper's hand reached into his coat. Private took a step back, knowing Skipper was going for his gun. Kowalski watched in horror, edging closer to Private. If it became necessary, he would stand between the two.

"Skipper, don't…" Kowalski warned.

"Is that insubordination, Kowalski?"

The tension grew in the room as the three men watched each other like hawks, neither moving, nor speaking, their hands all edging towards their pockets like some kind of twisted western.

Finally, Skipper lowered his hand.

"In recognition of the fact you saved Kowalski's life back in England, I'm letting you go," Skipper stated, "I'm doing this for Kowalski, since I don't want him to jump in front of a bullet, I need him to do my paperwork for me," Skipper's stone cold eye's met Private's, "Next time, I will shoot to kill, and expect the rest of the team to do the same now that you and Kowalski are even."

* * *

"You're cover's blown," Nigel handed Private a passport, "You're now Anthony Tux, a mini golf champion…"

"I want to stay, Uncle Nigel." Private interrupted.

"Private, they'll kill you if they so much as see you!" Nigel protested, "What if Skipper or Kowalski's psycho secretary decide you're a security risk and hunt you down?!"

"I want to make sure they don't kill anyone else," Private's voice held a calm, yet forceful, clarity, "I know my cover's blown, I'm of no use to you on the inside, but is there anything else I can do to stop them?" Nigel's hand clenched the desk, his knuckles white.

"Head of the Organised Crime Division," Nigel finally answered, though his voice was weak, "But it's suicide. The last eight people who filled the position were killed within the first three weeks on the job."

"Killed by Skipper," Private grimaced, "All the more reason why I should take it." Nigel could see his mind was made up. Nothing he could say would change the Private's mind. Nigel had no choice but to give him the job; in the end, it was better than him trying to tackle the Penguins alone.


	14. Chapter 14

**January 10****th**** 1953**

"_Another_ bank robbery, Kowalski?" Skipper asked, with undisguised sarcasm. He'd actually been close to falling asleep before Kowalski had announced his proposition, but had seen an opportunity to at least give him a lecture on how repeating your previous actions would make you more likely to be caught.

"Yes, sir." Kowalski replied; glad to have finally gotten Skipper's attention.

"'e're bored." Rico elaborated, interrupting Skipper before he could begin his lecture (which would probably include a long depressing story about Manfredi and Johnson), as he cleaned his knife, for once following the conversation.

"We're millionaires." Skipper objected, "We don't need the extra money."

"'oney ain't evr'thin'" Rico pointed out. Skipper glared at him.

"Who'd ya hear that from?"

"Miss Perky." Rico answered, putting the knife back into one of his hidden pockets, and pulling out a grenade, which he proceeded to juggle, paying no more mind than if it was a tennis ball.

"Damn beatniks. Soon she'll have us all wearing turtlenecks and starin' off into space," Skipper muttered, "The way kids act these days. If I ever have a son and he starts actin' like that I'd slap him into next month…" Rico growled slightly at his comment against his current girlfriend, but was quickly distracted by Kowalski's next argument.

"Skipper, we've been doing nothing but glorified accounting for 1008 days, eight hours, five minutes, 14 seconds, 3 milliseconds..."

"Alright, we can do something. Just don't start tellin' me how many, smaller-than-whatever-you-just-said seconds it's been," Skipper grumbled, though secretly, he was just as eager to do something as the rest of them, he just didn't want to admit Kowalski was right without a fight. There was a chain of command that had to be kept, after all, "Just not another bank robbery. Those bore me."

**January 12th 1953**

"If you do not have an invitation," the butler just outside the door of the gigantic country house looked down on the four men from the top step, "you will not be permitted to enter." When Skipper had first suggested that robbing a party would be more fun than a bank, Kowalski thought he'd lost it, but when Skipper had explained that it was, despite the fact his arch enemy wasn't actually in the country at the time, Blowhole's guests they'd be intimidating, the idea had become a lot more attractive, if simply to pointlessly annoy Skipper's arch enemy.

"Wait a minute..." Skipper reached into the inside pocket of his overcoat as if to retrieve an invitation he'd forgotten was there.

The butler did everything but roll his eyes as Skipper pretended to fumble about in his pocket, "May I remind you that there are other guests behind you." Skipper smiled as if he'd found what he'd been looking for, and removed something from his pocket.

"Does this count as an invitation?" Skipper asked, a smug grin on his face as he pointed the gun at the man. A woman in a mink coat behind him fainted, her escort backing away, leaving her unconscious in the middle of the cold stone pathway, "Now, if you wouldn't mind?" The butler, still staring at the gun opened the door.

"This way, gentlemen."

"Lord and Lady Fredrick Thinknought," a servant standing at the top of the grand staircase announced as a rather bewildered looking man and his equally confused wife walked down the stairs, "Mr Alexander Lionel and Mrs Madeline…"

"That's Nana to you!"

"Mr Alexander Lionel and Nana." The taken aback servant announced as the terrified undercover agent, who had one too many bruises than normal was led down the stairs by his ear by Nana, accompanied by a lot of 'Ow!' s."

Without warning, the announcer froze, turning to the butler who'd just walked up to him, followed by three men in expensive suits. For a second he just stared at the other man, until Skipper made a threatening gesture with his coat, which was draped over his arm, undoubtedly covering a gun.

"T...Th... The Penguins." the intimidated man announced. Immediately, the people in the room turned around, looking up at the balcony, hoping it was only a tasteless joke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Skipper fired a warning shot into the air, "If I have to tell you who we are and what we want, well, then Jeeves here isn't the only one who's never heard of a newspaper." The people in the room, who were not frozen like a deer in headlights, ran for the doors. Skipper, annoyed at the crowd's attempt to escape, shot the hand of one of the men trying to open the doors, "Next person who so much as looks at those doors is dead!" Skipper shouted, descending the staircase. Immediately those closest to the doors backed a good five meters away, acting as if the doors were poisonous, "Lock those doors Kowalski." The two men, Kowalski turning back to lock the door, then advanced down the steps, Rico magically producing a bag far too big to fit in his coat, and motioned for the guests to place their valuables inside.

"Open the door!" a familiar English accented voice shouted through the heavy oak double doors, "I know you're in there Skippah, come out with your hands up!" there was a murmur of hope among the crowd upon hearing the voice of the only head of Organized Crime Division to survive more than a month. The sound of a heavy battering ram smashing into the main doors reached the team's ears.

"How the hell' d he find out?" Skipper murmured. He then turned to the crowd, who were making a bit too much noise for his taste, "Shut up!" the crowd immediately went silent, "Alright... Rico, find us some transport, Kowalski, get me a hostage."

"One each?" Kowalski asked.

"No, that would only slow us down. Just one. I doubt we'll have to split up."

Rico raced in through the doors on the opposite end of the room to the one Private was trying to break down, which he didn't bother to bolt behind him, fighting his way through the escaping crowd. Skipper really didn't care if they got away now; they'd be more likely a liability once they no longer felt helpless.

Rico ran up to Skipper, who was yelling at Private's men through the door, threatening to turn his guns on the crowd if anyone tried to batter the door down, "Ah fou' somethin', Private hasn't..."

"He's not our Private anymore," Skipper corrected icily.

"Ah foun' somethin' he ain't got 'overed." Rico announced enthusiastically. Skipper assumed it was some automobile Blowhole kept in an underground garage, so didn't bother to ask. Almost as if on cue, Kowalski pushed through the crowd, preceded by a nervous, but impressively collected singer.

Immediately the colour drained from skipper's face, and he put on his fedora, pulling it low over his face.

"Get another one," Skipper ordered, distorting his voice as if he had a sore throat. There was a crash at the other end of the room and Skipper realised the police were beginning to make serious progress on the wooden door. However this was more reassuringly accompanied by a shout on Jones' part of:

"Du Bois, you idiot, you'll kill them all!"

However Rico still cocked his pistol, and aimed it at the hostage.

"Outa' th' wa'." He ordered Kowalski, who was directly in his line of fire. Kowalski immediately moved aside. This was pretty standard procedure. As soon as Private heard the gunshot, and possibly a scream if they were lucky, they'd back off into the next county. Private was still the emotional sap he was in '48.

"No!" Skipper shouted, "She's more valuable alive."

"Skipper, I don't think…" Kowalski began to protest, but stopped, seeing the strange expression on what he could see of Skipper's face. The three men started towards the door. However, he hostage stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully, and fell to the floor. Kowalski grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly to her feet. Immediately Skipper turned around.

"Don't touch her!" He snapped, his voice lousing it's distortion for a split second. The woman looked at him as if he was somehow familiar, but quickly Skipper turned away before she could get a good look at his face.

"Could you stand up, Miss?" Kowalski ordered, giving skipper a questioning glance. The girl tried to stand, but winced in pain. By now the other partygoers had exited through the other doors. Skipper's took a cautious look back at the woman, though his glance showed concern, not annoyance.

"Carry her, Kowalski." Skipper ordered, holding the door open for the two.

"What?!" Kowalski exclaimed. It wasn't like Skipper to demand that extra care be taken with a hostage.

"Carry her!" Skipper repeated, his voice still distorted.

* * *

"This is insane!" The hostage exclaimed, trying to hide the fact that she was shivering in her skimpy grass skirt; she didn't want it mistaken for fear, "Can you even fly a plane?!" Rico turned around from the plane's controls.

"Nah," He replied, eyeing the woman, who shrunk back in her seat uncomfortably, "But I'm a fas' learner. Wha' your name, hon'y?"

"L... Lola." she replied, her expression now showing more disgust than fear. Rico purred, extending a hand to touch her hair.

"Get the plane in the air, Rico," Skipper poked his head out of the cabin of Blowhole's private plan, which Rico had somehow found in a secluded hanger, where he'd forced the mechanics to ready the machine, "before the cops start shooting holes in the fuselage." Rico shrugged, turning to the controls, but his eyes were still on Lola "Kowalski, take the lady into the cabin," Skipper grabbed his overcoat from one of the chairs and draped it over the Lola's shivering shoulders. He then turned to Rico, "Get the damn bird in the air and stop ogling the dame." Rico looked at him quizzically. Skipper was never against him having a little 'fun' with the hostages, but then Private was a little too close for comfort.

* * *

"What's that sound?" Lola asked noticing a distinct change in the sound of the engines. Skipper on the other side of the plane noticed the change too.

"Kowalski, analysis." He ordered.

"The engine is on fire." The scientist panicked. Skipper looked out of the window, but kept his calm.

"Go check on Rico," Skipper ordered. Immediately Kowalski entered the cabin, where Rico didn't seem to be noticing much of a problem.

"What's going on?" Lola asked.

"Engine trouble." Skipper answered shortly. Lola watched him, cautiously, blocking out the random shouting coming from the cabin. It was then she noticed the way he was fiddling with a small pen knife, tossing it up then catching it about four times, then putting it back in his pocket, then after a few seconds, pulling it out and repeating the process. The cycle seemed familiar, as did the knife.

"You belonged to the bird club too?" Lola asked as the plane spluttered and leaned, slowly losing altitude.

"What?"

"My boyfriend has a knife like that, stencilled PENGUIN too. He said it was because he was part of a club, you know, bird watching. He went on a mission in South America and was the first one to spot a penguin, that's why they gave him it."

"Skipper, the pilot recommends we sit down, as we will be crash landing presently." Kowalski re-entered the cabin, resuming his seat, slightly calmer.

"Were you in the bird watching club?" Lola asked.

"No." Skipper stated.

"Those were given to us as part of a mission in Madagascar," Kowalski answered, having heard much of the conversation though the flimsy door, "In case we had to ditch our ID's behind enemy lines, we could still prove our identity when they picked us up." The conversation stopped as the uneven putter the struggling engines had made stopped entirely.

* * *

The 'Little Madagascar' Parade had gone half its route, most of the performers exhausted, though Julian in the lead seemed just as sprightly as he'd been in the beginning.

"Are you not enjoying de partey!?" he shouted, almost seconds before the street began to clear, the crowds pointing up into the sky at the slowly descending plane, seemingly intending to land on the road on which the parade had previously danced. A few seconds later there was a screech of metal as the plane hit the asphalt without its landing gear, skidding to a stop.

"You all right doll?" skipper asked, helping the hostage out of the cabin, not seeming too concerned by the landing. He'd experienced worse. Rico on the other hand, who exited second, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Lola!" Julian exclaimed, pushing to the front of the crowd he'd been cowering behind, "You said you wouldn't be able to make it?"

"Well, I guess I'm here." She replied, her eyes unfocused and wobbling slightly on her high heeled shoes.

"I think that's our cue, boys." Skipper stated, hoping to get away before Julian noticed their presence.

"Skipper!" Julian greeted, "welcome to de partey!"

"Oh Curie." Kowalski muttered. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

There was an unfamiliar knock on Kowalski's door.

"Come in!" Kowalski called. The door opened.

"Mr Kowalski?" the newcomer, a short man, with big blue eyes, and an insanely bright red and blue tie entered.

"Is there another in this building I don't know about?" Kowalski asked sarcastically. The man laughed dryly.

"No, there ain't."

"Right, what do you want?" Kowalski asked impatiently. He was the only member of the team to still have work to do following the party and was desperate to complete it so he could get home.

"I've got some information."

"Miss Blue always gives me information. The procedure is simple. You give it to her, she decides if it's worth my attention and gives it to me. How did you get past my secretary anyway?"

"I did give it to Miss Blue. She told me not to give it to you and to destroy it."

"Well, she obviously didn't think it was worth my attention. Now, if you don't mind..."

"It's about Mr Grant..." Kowalski still wasn't interested.

"It's about the Asker twins!" Kowalski looked up from his desk, now interested.

"Phil and Mason Asker?"

"The blackmailers? Yeah."

"What have they got on Skipper?"

"I don't know. I heard it from my sister. You see, Mason got drunk one night and started hittin' on her..."

"And he said more than he was supposed to. Now, what have they got on skipper?"

"I already told you, I don't know, but I know it's big. Real big."

"And Miss Blue told you to destroy it?"

"Yeah, the Hen normally doesn't show no emotions, but she looked like she was tryin' to hide something." Kowalski's brow furrowed in thought. Finally, having reached a conclusion as to whether the information was genuine, looked back at the visitor.

"Thank you..."

"Barry, sir. Barry Malone."

"Right, now why are you telling me this? Why not just keep the story yourself?"

"Forty thousand dollars."

"Haven't you just told me what you have to offer?"

"Give me the forty thousand, and I don't tell this to Blowhole." Kowalski shook his head.

"You aren't going to get a cent."

"Then I'm going straight to Blowhole." Barry moved towards the door.

"I'd reconsider that, if I were you," Kowalski stated somewhat irritably, "You're working for me now. If you say no, then I suggest to your editor that he fire you, and make sure word gets to the police just how you got that information on the late Miss Pearson."


	15. Chapter 15

**January 11th 1953**

"An unusual location to meet, Mr Kowalski." Henrietta Blue commented, as she saw Kowalski approach the table at the back of the nightclub. He was a few minutes late, but Miss Blue was, as always, had been exactly on time.

"Please, it's Peter." Kowalski replied, taking a seat at the table. Miss Blue blushed slightly, though quickly hid this. She'd had feelings for her employer almost since she'd been recommended, but knew it was unprofessional to express them.

"I brought the files on the Hans Svendson case... Peter," she pronounced the name with uncertainty, "I assumed that was what you wished to discuss."

"Not at all," once again Miss Blue had to hide her blush as her employer smiled at her. Her reason screamed that his behaviour was suspicious, that this had to be a trap, but for once she didn't want to listen, "Want to dance?"

"Henrietta?" Kowalski asked as the two danced to one of the rare slow numbers, both slightly wobbly, which was not unexpected, considering the number of drinks they'd had.

"Yes, Peter?" She replied, her speech slightly slurred.

"What do you think of Skipper?" Kowalski asked as the pair returned to their table. The two sat down, Miss Blue resting her head on his shoulder.

"You are one good dancer," She laughed.

"What do you think of Skipper?" Kowalski repeated the question, trying not to make it sound too impatient.

"Oh... _The boss_." She rolled her eyes, an expression of disgust on her face. Then, despite her intoxication, realized that was something she shouldn't have said, "I didn' mean..."

"Nah, I agree." Kowalski scowled, motioning drunkenly for two more drinks, "People like us... Smart people... We oughta' be runnin' things."

"Yeah..." Miss Blue started to nod off.

"I heard there was somethin' on the market that could control him." Kowalski shook her awake slightly.

"Yeah... Phil an' Mason," Miss Blue rested her hand on Kowalski's chest, "You an' me baby, we get him at his place on fourth street jus' before the auction," She smiled groggily, "Once we've got the photos..."

"Thank you, Miss Blue." Kowalski stood up, all signs of his intoxication disappearing, "You've just saved me a lot of time."

"You..." It took less than a second for Miss Blue to realize just how foolish she'd been. It was so obvious it was a trap, which only made it hurt worse.

"Never fall for your boss, Miss Blue, It's unprofessional," He nodded to Barry, who was standing behind the bar. Barry had convinced the real bartender to 'take the night off' leaving Barry to spend the evening replacing Kowalski's martinis with water and adding 'hot sauce' to Miss Blue's drinks. Miss Blue, fighting back tears of betrayal, went for the gun strapped to her leg, but found nothing. Kowalski, smiling tauntingly removed the missing gun from his own pocket, twirling it around his finger, "and if you do fall for him, don't make it so obvious," Kowalski tossed the gun back to the woman, who immediately aimed it at him, "If you try and shoot me, I'd get you first." Kowalski stated before the Miss Blue could pull the trigger. Realizing Kowalski was right, she lowered her weapon.

"Then why are you giving it to me."

"In case you want to take the easy way out before Rico gets on your trail," Kowalski smiled, watching the shocked onlookers part as he started towards the door, "It'll be far less painful."

* * *

**January 12th 1953**

"Following Skipper was absolute genius, Lulu." Mason Asker complemented. Phil signed something to the same effect.

"Aw, you flatter me." Lulu replied, looking beside her at her fiancé Phil. Mason glanced at his watch.

"Have you got the photographs?" Mason asked, snapping the two out of dream land.

"Oh, yes, I've got the photos," Lulu removed an envelope from her clutch purse, and was about to give it to Phil when the door was kicked down and two men entered the room, guns trained on the trio.

"Give me the photos and guns." Kowalski ordered. He and his companion, Barry, who he daren't allow out of his sight lest he make a break for dolphin territory despite Kowalski's threats, had been listening to the pair through a microphone they'd placed in the room for over two hours; Kowalski didn't want to grab them until he was sure they had the photos. Lulu looked at Phil, who nodded. Three guns clattered to the floor, "Kick them away." the trio once again complied with his instructions.

"Alright..." She stepped forward, moving dangerously close to the window. Kowalski knew the trick, and grabbed her wrist before she could toss the envelope out the window, "Hey!" Kowalski wrenched the envelope from her hand, opening it.

Kowalski looked through the photographs, without saying a word. Finally, after looking through the six images twice - he still couldn't believe his eyes - put the envelope in his pocket.

"Alright Barry, let's go."

* * *

"Mr Kowalski, it's that dame," Barry pointed at a woman entering the building the two had just left, "The one from the club."

"Yes, she's exactly on time," Kowalski replied calmly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he skimmed through a newspaper.

"I don't mean to question you, but why'd you leave them alive?"

"I haven't." Kowalski answered cryptically, still not looking up from his newspaper.

"They look pretty alive to me."

"There's supposed to be an auction in…" Kowalski looked at his watch, "About fifteen minutes. All the major players will be coming to buy Skipper's Achilles heel."

"I still don't get it."

"Just watch, Barry."

* * *

"You're too late," Mason told Miss Blue, "He took the photos."

"Damn him." She growled. Suddenly the ten men who'd arrived for the auction thundered into the room.

"So, you decided to sell to the Penguins," Hans snarled, "I gave you fifteen thousand not to sell to them." Three other men behind him, all representing their respective gangs nodded in agreement.

"No, no, it's all a mistake! She's not working for the Penguins!" Mason protested.

"I don't care if she's working for Santa's reindeer, she's not working for us. Alright Blue, give us the photographs!"

"I don't have them!" She protested.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Hans smiled menacingly at the four people, "I don't believe you," Hans stepped forward, "Now, you're going to tell me where you put the photos..."

"Wait a minute," Darla Bacall, placed a threatening hand on the Dane's shoulder, holding him back, "How come you get the information?" Darla stepped around the puffin, and towards the three, "As far as I'm concerned, my gals and I should get the info..."

"Wait a minute," Archie the Archer protested, "I think my client oughta get 'em."

* * *

"In the ensuing fight, all four liabilities were killed, as well as the three Bacall sisters, Savio Di Serpente, and Stacy Badger." Kowalski reported.

"Good work Kowalski," Skipper complemented. Kowalski could detect a note of relief in his voice as his employer paced the spacious office. Suddenly he stopped, looking Kowalski in the eye, "As soon as the bank opens tomorrow, get the envelope out of the safety deposit box and give it to me," Skipper ordered, "Nobody looks at the photos under any circumstances, comprende?"

"Is there something you want to tell me Skipper?" Kowalski asked cautiously.

"Not that I can think of," Skipper answered.

"Anything you want to tell me about… a lady friend?"

"Dames?" the look on Skipper's downcast eyes was almost enough to make Kowalski almost regret asking the question, "they get hurt in this business."

"You've dodged the question," Kowalski's curiosity suppressed his guilt at the cruelty of the questions.

"I don't have a 'lady friend'. I wouldn't risk one after… what happened to Marlene."

"Don't you mean _Skipper_ wouldn't risk one?"

"I'm sure Blake Grant wouldn't either, if that's what you're getting at."

"Alright," Kowalski could clearly see that this approach wasn't working, "Why don't you tell me where you've been between 2000 and 0400? While you're at it you can tell me why you were so eager to protect that hostage."

"I wasn't."

"I have evidence."

"No you don't." Skipper denied almost childishly. Then Kowalski produced an envelope from his pocket.

"The photographs aren't in the safety deposit box," Kowalski opened the envelope, throwing the photographs onto the desk. The portrayed a blond haired man in the crisp white suit worn by the waiters at the Copacabana, locked in an embrace with a woman in a Hawaiian outfit, bright yellow feathers in her dark brown hair. At first glance the man in the photograph was nothing out of the ordinary, but at a second bore uncanny resemblance to Skipper. Skipper remained silent, staring at the photographs, "The man's name is Tony Knight, he's been a bartender at the Copacabana since January 9th, 1950. Date sound familiar? It's the starting date of your first mission, which coincidentally was at the Copacabana. The woman's name is Lola DeLeslie, or Lola Humphrey. She works as the lead dancer at the same club…"

"Fine…"

**_January 10th 1950_**

_"Hi there handsome," Skipper looked up from the glasses he was cleaning._

_"'Afternoon Miss DeLeslie," Tony greeted, "So, is it customary for the star of the show to come meet the new guy?" Lola laughed._

_"You always looking for hidden plots?"_

_"It was an honest question." Skipper replied, slightly embarrassed, though he immediately mentally slapped himself. Since when did he care what someone else thought?_

_"Sometimes," she replied, "Most people don't last long here and I liked the look a ya."_

_"How come?"_

_"How come?" She imitated Skipper's voice. Skipper was trying to decide whether she thought the dancer was annoying or the girl of his dreams, though the blush he was trying to hold back had already decided on the latter. She leaned forward across the bar and lowered her voice, "Julian drives most of you starving actors as crazy as he is."_

_"He's a little eccentric," Skipper replied. Julian didn't even show up on his definition of crazy, when compared with someone like Blowhole, "So how long have you been here?"_

_"Lola, rehearsal!" Skipper heard Maurice shout. Throughout the day his mind would continue to drift back to Lola, despite how much he tried to concentrate on the mission._

"So why keep up the double identity?" Kowalski asked, "Other than to protect her, though you don't seem to think much of that…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing sir. I'm just wondering why you didn't tell her who you are. You'd think any girl would be attracted by the money and scandal."

"Yeah, you'd think any girl would."

**_February 3rd 1950_**

_"Well, see ya," Lola walked off towards the dressing rooms. It was nothing official, but Skipper and Lola's casual friendship had grown to the point at which it might be something more, if they wanted it to be, and both did. That was one of the reasons Skipper now felt comfortable with telling her who he really was; he hadn't told her before as he wanted her to like him for who he was, and for no other reason. In fact, he planned to tell her just after rehearsals._

_"Golly I hate those Penguins!" Skipper heard a familiar female voice shout. The sound came from Ringtail's office. The wall between the two rooms was thin, as Julian liked to be able listen to the music playing in the other room on the unusual occasion he was required to do paperwork. Skipper paused, listening._

_"It is not that bad, Lola," Julian replied, "Maurice says that de money we pay them doesn't really matter." Skipper had told Kowalski to decrease the club's monthly payments, giving no reason, though it was really to make sure they wouldn't have to cut any dancers, after all, as the lead, Lola was the highest paid._

_"I know it doesn't," Lola replied in a quieter voice, "But it's what they've done to this city. The gangs weren't complicated, they'd have their disputes in their own territories, but since the Penguins, you never know where the fighting's going to break out… or who will get caught up in it."_

_Skipper didn't need to listen to the rest of the conversation. It was pretty obvious telling her who he was would only ruin their relationship. He always prided himself on trying to make sure no innocents were hurt in the course of the mission, but he couldn't control everything._

"So you tossed her out like Marlene," Kowalski interrupted, the note of disgust in his voice barely disguised.

"What are you talking about?"

"Two months later you're dating Marlene," Kowalski replied, "I certainly hope you weren't dating both of them…" skipper slapped his lieutenant, interrupting the accusation.

"Would I do something like that?"

"Well…"

"Marlene was a distraction, Kowalski. I couldn't keep lying to Lola," Skipper snapped, "Marlene… I figured it was safe. She didn't love me, so I was only deceiving her as much as she was me. I figured if I kept trying to convince her that I loved her, and not Lola, I might just believe it," skipper sat down in his chair, turning the photos face down on the desk, "When I met her at the speech, I honestly was only curious as to why she wasn't afraid. We got on well together, and she certainly seemed able to protect herself…"

"Just keep justifying it to yourself."

"I know what I did – doing – is wrong, but you've made some worse choices when it came to Doris." Kowalski had to admit, Skipper had a point.

"So why do you no longer find it 'unethical' to be with Lola now?" Kowalski asked cynically.

"I don't, and I don't pretend things are any different. After I met Marlene, well, I stayed on at the Copacabana. I liked to pretend I was, if only for a few hours, just a normal guy," Skipper picked up the photographs, striking a match and setting them alight.

"I think I know the rest," Kowalski could almost sympathize. Since the day Doris had left there hadn't been a moment he didn't think about her, "You realized after Marlene died, that you couldn't help but love her."

"You hit the nail on the head, Kowalski," Skipper watched the burning photographs twisting and contorting, before dropping it into empty garbage. Then he paused, as if debating what he should say next, "Let's just keep this between ourselves. I don't want to know how many double lives Rico would set up if he thought it was ok."


	16. Chapter 16

**June 5th 1969**

"It didn't last, did it?" Private questioned sceptically.

"Actually, it did. Skipper was...happy, when he was Tony Knight," Kowalski reminisced, "It was nice to see him smile again."

"You mean when he wasn't killing someone, sir?" Private half sneered. The more he heard about his father, the more he hated him, though the more he wanted to hear more.

"It's nice to see you've got your manners back," Kowalski replied, referring to the 'sir'. He was a bit of an old fashioned parent, and always insisted on this, "No, what we did was never a game to your father. He never took pleasure in hurting people, he just liked to give the impression he did."

_**July 14th 1953**_

_Skipper shut the door of his office, carelessly tossing his coat onto the coat stand. _

_"'Afternoon Kowalski." Skipper greeted, acknowledging the lieutenant's presence, "So how's the Consolidated Amalgamated? I didn't turn up today."_

_"Yeah, people noticed. I told them you were lunching with the mayor." Kowalski replied._

_"Speaking of skipping work, did you catch up with those producers?"_

_"Yes. They all said they gave Lola the part, just like I told them to, but she turned it down."_

_"They have to be lying. It's Lola's dream to star on Broadway." Tony protested._

_"They say she turned down the part."_

_"Well, toss one of them off a building or something. Set the others an example; they'll toe the line," Skipper took off his hat, tossing it flawlessly onto the filing cabinet at the other end of the room, humming some tune he'd probably heard at the club._

_"You seem unusually cheerful." Kowalski commented, retrieving the file he'd originally come for._

_"Not really," Skipper chuckled, "You'll never guess what happened yesterday."_

_"Julian set out a 'royal decree' against toasters?"_

_"Nope."_

_"One of the chorus girls fell off the stage again?"_

_"Do you give up?"_

_"I've gone through all the most probable solutions, so it's only a 32% probability that the event of which you are referring to would be possible for me to guess using my current data."_

_"So that means you give up?"_

_"Pretty much."_

_"Ok. Lola managed to get me set up for an audition. She didn't tell me 'till the last minute."_

_"So… I'm guessing you discovered acting isn't your forte?"_

_"No, I actually wasn't that bad. It was what I was auditioning for, and what they said that was funny," Skipper smiled cheekily._

_"Are you going to tell me?"_

_"Sure. You know how that director, Purvis McSlade, is making a romantic comedy serial called The Fall of Buck Rockgut?"_

_"Yes. It's completely unrealistic, I had a look at the script."_

_"Well, apparently, I'm only a minor character, and Lola knows the casting director. So, I managed to get myself auditioned for the part of the Dastardly Blake Grant." Skipper burst out laughing, Kowalski having to agree that this was pretty ironic._

_"So... did you get the part?"_

_"No. They said I made a terrible Blake Grant."_

Kowalski smiled at the fond memory. Private, however, was not amused. He was still trying to get over the fact that his father hadn't been the philanthropic steel magnate he'd been led to believe, but a brutal killer, and joking about the fact wasn't exactly helping.

"Very ironic, sir," Private commented dryly, "So, Lola is my mother?" Private looked at the seat at the bar the woman had occupied, only to find it empty.

"Yes. They got married on the third of March, 1953."

_**March 3rd 1953**_

_Tony paced the small room nervously, wringing his hands. Suddenly he stopped, and turned to Kowalski, who had climbed through one of the windows a few minutes ago; he didn't want to be seen._

_"Am I doing the right thing?" Tony asked._

_"You've been putting this off for months. I don't think Lola wants to wait any longer."_

_"It's just… to be married, and not tell her…"_

_"She loves you for who you are, not what you do for a living."_

_"But when we're married… how can I hide my other job from her?" Tony resumed his pacing._

_"We've already gone over this, I've arranged for you to be accepted for a part in a popular radio drama. Of course someone else will actually play the role, but this should give you an excuse for being out all day."_

_"Still…"_

_"It's your choice Skipper, but she really has her heart set on marriage."_

_"Hey, Tony, you're on!" Maurice shouted through the door._

_"You'd better get going," Skipper stated as he walked towards the door, straightening his tie at the same time. When he looked back, Kowalski was already gone. He opened the door, where Maurice was yelling at the flower girls and caterers, and anyone else he could see._

_"His majesty's blowin' his top, you'd better get out there."_

_"How on earth did he end up managing my wedding?" Tony sighed, though he knew Julian was acting as a front for Kowalski's funding, starting off down the hallway at a brisk pace._

_"Hey Tony?"_

_"Yeah?" Tony looked around. Maurice had a strangely serious expression on his face._

_"You be good to her, Tony," Maurice stated._

_"Of course." Tony replied, slightly bewildered by the tone Maurice spoke in._

_"I mean it, Tony. You've got a chance to try again. Don't mess it up."_

_"Sure, I wouldn't give her any less," Tony stated, caught off guard by Maurice's choice of words._

* * *

_"Do you, Anthony Lincoln Knight, take Lola Elisabeth Humphrey to be your lawfully wedded wife?"_

_"I do."_

_"And do you Lola Elisabeth Humphrey take Anthony Lincoln Knight to be your lawfully wedded husband?"_

_"I do…" Suddenly, Lola froze. She'd spotted someone standing at the back of the room out of the corner of her eye. Almost immediately afterwards, Tony saw him too. Kowalski was standing in one of the more shadowy corners of the church. "Get the hell out of here!" Skipper's stare screamed frantically._

_"You may now kiss the bride."_

_"Tony…" Tony pulled the woman into a passionate embrace. When she finally looked behind her, the Kowalski was gone._

"Am I doing the right thing?" Private scoffed, "He completely ignored how dangerous, and even fatal his previous relationship had been? If he really loved her he would have had the strength to leave her alone, or at least tell her what she was getting herself into! What, had he forgotten Marlene already?"

"He never forgot Marlene," Kowalski shook his head sadly, "He never forgot what had happened to her till the day he died."

_**July 15th 1953**_

_The daylight was beginning to fade as Skipper stood before the gravestone. Marlene Agatha Roberts April 5th 1924 - March 20th 1952. Under the name and date a quote was chiselled into the elaborate headstone: "Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing."* Kowalski had chosen the quote, despite the fact that they were the 'bad men', he felt it described her life long campaign that had inevitably gotten her killed._

_"Never got to see that first day of spring she was looking forward to…" Skipper said to no one in particular._

_"Marlene Roberts?" Skipper hadn't noticed Lola's presence._

_"I…admired her work." He replied hurriedly._

_"We all did," Lola's expression saddened noticeably, "She was a real role model," Lola's eyes skimmed the gravestone, biting her lip when she realized just how young she'd died, "Even those years everyone mocked her because she was with that… gang lord… she was probably only forcing herself through to bring him to justice." Skipper nodded. Why did Lola always guess so painfully accurately?_

_"Yeah. I guess she was."_

_"What's that?" Lola asked, looking at the one krone coin attached to a leather string worn around Skipper's neck. He always wore it, or carried it somehow, wherever he was going, as a reminder of what happened in hadn't realized he'd been holding the coin, another reminder of another great failure. Skipper immediately placed the coin in his pocket._

_"Nothing."_

_"Really?" Lola was good at reading people. She knew there was more to the coin than a simple bauble._

_"It's… a reminder… of something I did." Skipper could remember the incident in Denmark all too clearly. It was his hurried and ill thought out decisions that had endangered thousands of lives, and made him Denmark's public enemy no 1. But then, he couldn't exactly try and explain that to Lola. She'd hate him for it. It was one of the many things he'd always have to keep a secret from her, "So, how did the audition go?"_

_"I didn't get the part." Lola stated._

_"Really, cause I bumped into Betty last night, and she said she'd heard they'd given you the part, but you turned it down."_

_"I…"_

_"Bill said the same thing." Skipper continued._

_"Well…" Lola bit her lip, "I have been turning them down."_

_"You've been turning them down!" Skipper exclaimed, "Lola, it's your dream…"_

_"Tony, all those shows… they all had plans to tour. I didn't want to have to leave you…" _

_"I could come with you."_

_"Don't be silly. What if it doesn't work out? You can't quit your job here. Anyway, we don't have the money, and they'd probably only pay for me," Skipper mentally cursed. He had to remember that he was struggling for cash._

_"Yeah, I guess you have a point." Skipper couldn't help but feel touched. Lola was giving up her dreams for him._

"At first I thought your father's change in character went only as deep as the hair dye and inexpensive suits," Kowalski reminisced, "But Tony Knight was a completely different person," Kowalski looked back at Private, who hadn't moved since he started the story. The boy's expression had remained permanently one of anger, and slight sadness, though never interrupted. Then Kowalski changed his mind, "No, not a different person. Skipper changed, well, he had to, to do what he did, but the part of Skipper that was Tony Knight always stayed the same. Tony Knight was the Skipper I knew back in the '40s, before Operation: Join and Destroy. Then, few months later your father died in a car crash," Kowalski finished, standing up from the table, "Well, Private, that's the story."

"No it's not." Private objected. Kowalski stared at him for a few seconds, then his face morphed into to a saddened smile.

"Just like your father; can't put one over on you."

"I'm not a kid, sir," Private's voice had a determination Kowalski had never heard before, "I can handle the truth." Kowalski sat down at the table. He hadn't wanted to tell Private what really happened, but Private wasn't going to take no for an answer.


	17. Chapter 17

**June 5th 1956**

Lola danced across the stage, ignoring ringtail's spontaneous shouting. Her eyes only ever held on one man. Every night he always watched her, thinking she could never dance more beautifully, only to be proven wrong the next night. Whenever she turned towards him he could see the way the stage lights made her eyes sparkle and…

"Hey, Mack!" a customer shouted, "Special on the rocks."

"Yes sir." It took every ounce of his willpower to drag his eyes from Lola, and return to work. Kowalski often asked how Skipper could put up with being ordered around, especially by someone like Julian. The few times he had been ordered around, apart from by superiors, he hadn't taken it very well. He'd even, more viciously than usual, shot at his ex-Private after he ordered him to surrender. Skipper had to admit, he never really thought about it. He'd do anything to protect Lola, and their son, Will.

"Yes, um certainly Mr Penguin." Skipper heard Julian answer nervously as he escorted the men to their table. Skipper was so surprised by the visitors that he looked again, though tried not to stare; that would be too conspicuous. 'Mr Penguin' was Rico, his ever present backpack unmistakable. He was followed by his two completely unnecessary bodyguards, Bada and Bing. Rico could take down a raging elephant, he really only kept the two gorillas to show he could afford them. The diamond ring on his finger glinted in the bright lights. Rico had taken to the Penguin lifestyle like a duck to water.

"'Hey oo." Rico pointed directly at Tony. At first he thought he'd been recognized, until he continued, "bottle a bubbly." Skipper didn't really want to know what he was celebrating.

Rico sat down at the table, immediately distracted by the lead dancer. When he finally caught her eye, he winked at her, though there was a slight menace in the gesture, as there was with everything Rico did. As far as Rico was concerned, the world existed only for his entertainment. He often made it clear that if he wanted something, he would get it. Skipper had denied him the girl last time, well, Skipper wasn't here now; there was a certain spice to taking something he wasn't supposed to have. The number finished, the girls began to move through the audience towards the dressing rooms. Rico whistled, getting the main dancer's attention, and beckoned her over. He then motioned for the Tony to bring her whatever she wanted, on him, of course.

Tony watched the two. He couldn't hear what Rico was saying, but he had a good idea what it was, and didn't like it. Still, as long as he didn't try anything, he would let it be. He'd considered telling Rico who he was, and ordering him to leave her alone, but he felt it wasn't worth breaking his cover… yet. It was then he saw Rico's hand reach towards the low back of Lola's dress. He could see she wanted to run, she knew Rico's reputation, but she also knew he could easily become violent, so stayed seated, staring at Tony like a caged animal.

That was going too far. Tony left the bar and marched over to the table. "Rico, hands off my girl." He ordered. Rico laughed.

"'She's mah girl 'ow." He replied, placing an arm around her. Lola flinched, her expression terrified. It wasn't until Rico threatened _his_ girl that Skipper actually cared what the psychopath did.

"I _said_, hands off." Skipper growled, taking another step forward.

"Please, Tony, don't!" Lola shouted. She could see where this was going. Rico stood up. "'iece of advice," Rico glared at Tony, towering a good six inches over him, "run." Prior to this, Skipper had been calmly calculating his chances of winning. He could beat Rico easily; his ego would keep Bada and Bing or any weapons from getting involved. Suddenly Skipper made his decision, his fist swung at the man, the uppercut catching Rico painfully under the jaw. Lola screamed as the man fell backwards onto his chair. When he stood up again, there was stream of blood slowly trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"You're really gonna regret that mister." Bada cracked his knuckles.

"Yeah, you're really gonna regret that and what not." Bing concurred. The two gorillas moved towards Tony.

"Ah dealin' with the wi'e guy." Rico objected, as Skipper predicted, throwing a punch at Skipper, who dodged easily, countering with a kick to the stomach that sent Rico tumbling over the table. Rico had obviously underestimated his opponent's fighting prowess. However, he still felt quite safe. As far as Rico knew, there was only one man who could consistently beat him in single combat, and he certainly wasn't there.

This hurt Rico's pride, he was fine with his leader being better than him, but not some obscure bar tender. He sprung forward, lashing out with an elbow to the head, which, had it reached its target, smashed his opponent's skull. As skipper ducked under the attack, he lashed out with a drop kick, though Rico jumped, avoiding this too. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Skipper shot up from his crouched position, planning to knee the man in the stomach using the force of the jump. However, this time, Rico was more than ready for him, and sidestepped, grabbing Skipper's arm, then twisting it at a painful angle. Skipper was forced to use one of his signature moves to get out of the hold without a broken arm, though Rico was too angry to find it familiar.

Suddenly Skipper struck out with a jab to the face, stunning his opponent. He followed this with a series of precise quick punches, his fists a blur. He then kneed him in the face, grabbed a chair then smashed it across the dazed, and collapsing man's head, insuring his decent to the floor. Any man but Rico, or possibly himself, wouldn't still be conscious at this point. He was about to finish him off when he heard Lola shout.

"Tony?!" Lola had never seen him fight like that, though the brutality and almost surgical precision and placement of the attacks was familiar. Like something she'd seen before, she was sure, yet she couldn't quite place it. While Skipper was distracted for a split second by the surprised cry, Rico had some time to think.

Rico was starting to get angry. This guy was good, and might actually have a chance of winning. The fighting style was familiar, and he didn't think he'd ever met another bartender who knew the moves he did. Rico didn't really care. The point was, he was losing. He couldn't lose. Well, what rule had he always followed when facing opponents bigger or better than himself? If you can't win, cheat. Rico had wanted to fight fair, prove he could beat the upstart, but cheating and winning was better than keeping his pride and losing.

"Tony, look out!" Lola screamed, sighting the gun Rico pulled from his backpack, as he sprung to his feet.

Skipper made a grab for the gun. He hadn't expected Rico to pull the weapon; this certainly changed the odds in a way that wasn't good for him. Shots flew wildly as he and Rico wrestled for control of the weapon; control over life or death. Lola screamed as a shot hit the table only a few inches from her hand, though at this point, Skipper was fighting for his life, and as long as she wasn't injured, he didn't have time to be distracted again. Skipper tightened his grip on the gun, and slammed Rico's hand, into the granite bar. However on his second repeat, Rico twisted the gun backwards, redirecting the force of the attack back at Skipper, breaking the finger that had gotten caught in the grip, and leaving a nasty bruise on his arm.

Rico smiled victoriously. That was Rico's flaw: arrogance. Skipper knew from both the files Nigel had kept on all of them, and personal experience. Skipper exploited this, exaggerate his injury, something that would be believable as his alter ego, gripping the injured hand and crying out in pain. Suddenly, when Rico's guard was down, he made a grab for the gun with his other hand, pointing it away from himself, then pulled the gun upwards, Rico's hand at an angle there was nothing he could do about it, intending to smash it into Rico's collar bone, shattering it. However, Rico rolled backwards over the bar; this course of action being the only thing he could do to avoid the attack. Skipper maintained his grip on the firearm, and was pulled over with him. Lola's view of the fight was obscured as the two men fell behind the bar, but the constant crash of shattering glass and hollow thuds as knuckles hit stone and wood, informed her that the two had not spontaneously reached a diplomatic conclusion. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out across the room.

The sound of the fighting stopped. All Lola could see was the steadily growing pool of blood on the floor, leaving the question of just who shot who.

"TONY!" Lola screamed, leaving her chair, and rushing towards the sound of the shot as Rico stood up, looking rather pleased with himself, and walked casually away from the body. Rico wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth as he reached his table, which had been surprisingly untouched by the fight. It had previously seemed exciting to go after the girl he had specifically been told not to, but it would be no fun if she was crying her eyes out.

"Tony, please, talk to me!" she could feel the blood from a gaping wound in his chest in her hands as she cradled the dying man.

"So this…" Tony coughed, his face portraying a weak grimace, "…'s what it's like… wha' Private was sayin'… "

"Mommy, what's…"

"Mort, take Will back outside," Lola shouted desperately, looking over her shoulder, "Please don't leave me Tony, don't leave me and Will!" She cried discounting his previous statement as delirium. Wisps of orange joined the crimson pooled about the man's head as the blond hair dye dissolved in the blood.

"Will…" his voice was barely a whisper. Lola leaned forward, her ear to his mouth, "Don't let him… let him get mixed up in this."

"Tony, what are you talking about?" She asked, tears running down her cheeks.

Lola screamed as a second shot rang out.

* * *

"…Cause of death was 22 calibre bullet entering skull near top of skull, passing through the temporal and frontal lobe before exiting though lower half of face, directly below right eyeball. Contrary to precedents, subject remained conscious for thirty seconds after the normally instantly fatal wound during which he spoke his last word. Word was almost inaudible, though probably interpretations are either 'Manfridi' or 'Marlene'.

"Subject was also bleeding profusely from fatal wound chest, causing haemorrhage in left lung. Subject had also previously been engaged in fisticuffs with individual identified as Alexander Rico. Subject sustained pre mortem injuries including minor bruising and a fractured index finger…"

The report dropped hollowly to Kowalski's desk. He could hardly believe, only an hour before, he'd written it, so coldly describing the death of the man he had thought of as his older brother. Well, that was his specialty, right? Rico had shot him first in the lung, and there was a slim chance he could have made it if he'd been alerted and gotten Skipper to a hospital in time, but out of some kind of sick honour, or form of apology for cheating, he'd finished him off with that final shot to the head. And to think Rico had done it right in front of his wife. Heck, it would have been little Will as well if Mort hadn't been playing with him outside. How could Rico…Of course. Rico. Kowalski reached for the phone, and began to dial a number for a person he doubted he'd ever speak to again.

"Hello, operator? Can you get me Captain Jones?"

Well, the kid was going to find out sooner or later and blame him, and there was no way he was going to spend the rest of his life in jail, or worse, for Rico.


	18. Chapter 18

**June 5th 1956**

Rico stumbled into his apartment, and groped about for the light switch. It was about four in the morning. He'd normally have a girl on his arm, but that plan had kind of backfired. Suddenly, the lights switched on, though he hadn't touched the switch.

"Had a nice evening, Rico?" A familiar British accented voice asked in a venomous tone.

"Hey, wa' you too doin' 'ere?" Rico asked suddenly on his guard.

"Waiting for you," Kowalski replied, in a similar tone to the first. The two men were stood on the far side of the room, guns drawn.

"Arn' we supposed to shoot 'im?" Rico asked, bewildered, looking at Private.

"Some things can make even _us_ work together," Private replied.

"Wha' goin' on?"

"Why don't you tell us? Tell us what you did tonight." Private asked.

"You tryin' to ge' me arrested?" Rico accused, "oo recordin' this?"

"All off the record Rico. I wouldn't have brought him here, if he was." Kowalski answered. It was then that Rico noticed the safety catch on both guns were off, and that Kowalski's finger was putting a bit too much weight on the trigger for comfort, "this is a personal matter." Even Rico was able to work out it was a good idea to answer the questions.

"Ah wen' to a couple 'a clubs, usual. Le' see… The Par', The Lion, The 'opa'abana – shot some annoyin' bartender there, no biggie…"

"No. Biggie." Kowalski growled. Suddenly, Private's finger squeezed the trigger, and Rico found a sizeable part of the top of his jungle like hair gone.

"'ey!" Rico shouted.

"The 'annoying bartender' was Skippah!" Private shouted, "You killed him in front of his wife, because you couldn't win in a fair fight!" At this Rico froze. He'd been quite close to Skipper.

"No… No… Na' 'ipper!" Rico stumbled backwards a step, "I didn't know he wa' anybody."

"You didn't know he was anybody. This is why I left," Private continued, "It doesn't matter who it was. Everybody is a 'somebody'. Now you care. What about everyone else? Skippah was just as much a person as them..."

"That's irrelevant, Private," Kowalski growled, his gun still trained on Rico. Rico's eyes had developed an almost feral quality. It was too much for him to take, any strong emotions could drive Rico over the edge, and he was even more shocked and confused than the day he'd been told Manfredi and Johnson had died.

"No… 'na 'ipper." Rico reached for his backpack, pulling a smoke pellet. He had to get away.

"Don't move Rico…" Kowalski shouted through the smoke, firing blindly. When the smoke was gone, so was Rico.

* * *

"Thank you Mrs Knight," the officer concluded, "we understand that your husband was shot by Mr Rico in self-defence."

"What are you talking about!" Lola screamed, "He outright murdered him."

"Thank you, Mrs Knight for _confirming_ the fact that your husband was shot in_ self-defence_." The officer opened the door to the small storage room that was being used for the questioning. Lola stood up and walked towards the door, following the officer out of the club. She was the last witness questioned; it was already six am. She walked towards her car. Tony had somehow gotten the money to buy it for her last birthday.

"Mrs Knight." She turned around.

"Yes officer?" She replied, the distain in her voice undisguised. If only Tony had been alive, he'd have set the man strait.

"Would you come with me please," the police officer held the door of his own car open.

"If you want me to go down to the station, I can drive myself, thank you."

"That wasn't a request, Mrs Knight. Someone wants to see you."

* * *

The elevator doors opened.

"Top floor, ma'am." The elevator operator announced insensibly. He'd seen all too many go this way and never return. The elevator operator didn't even blink an eye at the bloodstain the woman was trying to hide under her coat. He'd seen bigger ones.

The officer had driven Lola to an expensive apartment building. There was only one person who lived on this floor, in fact he owned the whole floor. Lola shivered involuntarily. Maybe she was going to join her husband sooner than expected. In front of her were two double oak doors. A butler in a crisp suit and impeccable posture opened the door and led her to a room the size of her living room that was decorated like an office. The officer had somehow disappeared, and apart from herself and the butler, there was only one other person in the room. He stood with his back to her, looking out across the city through the gigantic glass windows, as if he owned it. Well, he owned part of it; he still had to answer to 'the Skipper', but what person in his position didn't want to own the rest?

"Thank you Jenkins," the man broke the silence, "Shut the door please. Do not disturb us."

"Very good, sir." The butler left the room, shutting the doors behind him.

"Good morning, Mrs Knight," Kowalski turned around, his face expressionless, "You have my condolences."

"Making sure there are no witnesses. After all, it was _self-defence_." Lola replied sarcastically. She knew being so disrespectful was dangerous, but she was dead anyway.

"Quite the opposite. I understand that your husband's death was a shock to you. I want to do my best to… make things easier."

"What do you want?" Lola had been around too long to believe there such thing as a free lunch.

"Absolutely nothing," Kowalski picked up a newspaper from his desk, "From what I have been told you would appreciate it if I did not attempt to sugar coat the facts."

"So you've been spying on me."

"We have a mutual acquaintance," Kowalski handed her the newspaper. The headline was: Alleged Crime Lord Blake Grant Dies in Automobile Accident.

"Alright, so you go into 'help the poor widow mode' because you happened to lose a friend at the same time."

"If you read a bit further, you'll discover that the body was charred beyond recognition. I identified the body as being Skipper's, due to a conveniently placed dog tag," Kowalski replied, "Skipper wasn't killed in an automobile accident."

"For someone getting strait to the point, you're beating around the bush an awful lot" Lola snapped impatiently. Kowalski could see why Skipper liked the girl, though for the same reasons, he found her so infuriating.

"Blake Grant and Tony Knight were one and the same." The room fell silent for a good thirty seconds. Lola had always though there had always been something dark and mysterious about Tony, a part of him he would never share, and she frankly, didn't want to know. She would catch him with a faraway look, when he would read a newspaper, or look out at the street from the balcony. Still, that was impossible. Tony hated the Penguins. He'd died fighting one.

"What are you tryin' to pull?!"

"I'm telling the truth."

"You're lying. I don't know what you're trying to do, but I'm not going to…"

"Your husband wore a Danish krone on a leather cord around his neck. He never took it off. He may have told you it was a reminder of earlier mistakes. He certainly told you never to speak of it to anyone else."

"How did you…"

"I was there during his 'great mistake'."

"Tony couldn't… he wasn't a killer."

"I think you know there were parts of him that certainly could be, Mrs Knight."

"Or is it Mrs Grant, now."

"I'd prefer if you didn't use that name, especially not in public."

"Trying to cut me out of the inheritance?"

"Preventing you from becoming a target. You aren't actually in his will, he couldn't trust his lawyer," Lola had to admit, that did sound like Tony, "He trusted me to provide for you and the Private."

"The Private?"

"Will. The youngest member of our group is always called Private."

"Your group?!"

"Yes. Private comes with me. He'll have a much better future, the best schools, guaranteed ivy league…"

"What are you talking about!" Lola known the offer, especially coming from someone like him, was too good to be true, "He's my son, I won't let you take him. I could care for him just as well…"

"Increasing your funds would lead to suspicion, especially since Tony Knight and Blake Grant died on the same day."

"All you think of is material goods. Don't you know what a mother's love means to a kid?!" Kowalski winced. His mother had committed suicide when he was three. Lola seemed to sense this, "Yeah, you turned out _just fine._"

"Private comes with me. I would prefer it if you voluntarily handed over the child, however, I can arrange for you to be declared unfit to parent, and have him forcibly handed over to me."

"You can't take him away!" Lola objected, though she knew full well her pleas fell on deaf ears, "He's… He's all I have left."

"I'm doing what's best for the two of you, you just don't see it. I intend to take Private, and I will."


	19. Chapter 19

**June 5th 1969**

"So you had me taken from my own mother, only a few hours after she watched my father's murder!" Private exclaimed.

"I made a lot of… bad decisions, but I honestly thought I was doing the right thing." Kowalski replied.

"Make life easy for me, but ruin everyone else's to do it, strange way of parenting," Private muttered bitterly. He looked over at Manfridi and Johnson, who were still at the bar, casting the occasional anxious glance at them, "I suppose most of my 'friends' were just too scared to say no. It would have been nice to sit an exam that wasn't rigged."

**_July 28th 1964_**

_"Nice talkin' to you, sir." The girl thanked._

_"Always a pleasure to speak to a bright young mind," Kowalski replied. Then Kowalski spotted Private seated next to Jenkins in the office he was walking towards, "Good afternoon Private."_

_"'Afternoon sir." Private answered._

_"Cupid, this is my ward, Private. Private, this is Cupid," Kowalski introduced the two, "Now, I have an appointment with your mother in…" he checked his watch, "Right about now. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you and Private borrowed the library while we talk."_

_Kowalski made his way to the door labelled 'Principle', and with a nod to the receptionist opened the door and entered before she could complete her frantic attempt to announce his arrival._

_"Good afternoon, Mrs Kitka," Kowalski picked the chair opposite the desk and sat down, "I'd like to enrol my son in Falcon Academy."_

_"Mr Kowalski, I know you're used to getting what you want, but this is a good school," The principle, in her early thirties with long reddish brown hair and a golden orange pantsuit looked up from the various papers on her desk, her expression displeased, "We don't need your type…"_

_"I met your daughter Cupid. She's talking to my Private now, the school was fine with me dropping her off here," Kowalski interrupted calmly, "Smart girl. Had a nice conversation about thermodynamics…"_

_"You stay away from my daughter!" the woman snapped._

_"… Shame she can't attend a school like this, a better school. I never can help trying to assist a fellow genius, but you know what they say…"_

_"What do you want?"_

_"Well, she can't go to a decent school due to debts incurred by her mother's shady habit…"_

_"That's not true!"_

_"I own the puffin syndicate. I can arrange for certain debts to be forgotten," Kowalski looked behind him at the door. He'd thought he'd heard it creak, "I think your daughter would make a good friend for my Private..."_

_"You've finally slipped up, K'walski." Captain Jones stated entering the room unexpectedly, much to the receptionist's annoyance._

_"I'm sorry?" Kowalski barely raised an eyebrow at the abrupt entrance._

_"Kidnapping. Cupid Kitka was abducted from her school this afternoon by a vehicle registered to Consolidated Amalgamated Steel, specifically for blackmailing her mother into giving Will a place at this school."_

_"I think there is some kind of misunderstanding here, Young Private," Kowalski replied. The ex-Private had to admit it was creepy the way the guy never smiled, or showed hardly any emotions anymore, "as Ms Kitka will tell you, I was merely picking her up from school."_

_"She'd say anything if…"_

_"Or you can ask the girl herself. She's in the library with my Private." At this Jones knew he was beaten. It had just been wishful thinking to believe Kowalski would do something so blatantly criminal._

_"All I did was take one weekend off, and you've got yourself a pardon for every single thing you did when Skippah was alive."_

_"I was under the impression I was part of a mission, and of course had no idea Skipper was running things himself," Kowalski repeated the excuse he'd come up with to give the new head of Department D apart from several hundred thousand in cash, "all I am trying to do now is be a good citizen and care for Private. Consolidated Amalgamated is now a reputable company."_

_"More like you haven't slipped up yet," Jones grumbled, "but the moment you do, I will be right there."_

**_November 10th 1961_**

_"Master Kowalski, Master Private refuses to get out of bed." Jenkins reported. Kowalski, who was quite short on sleep himself, having been up all night interrogating a possible undercover police officer, dragged himself from his desk, where he was half dozing over Private's school report._

_"Thank you, Jenkins. I'll get him up." Kowalski ascended the steps of the mansion, he'd bought the building thinking it a more suitable place for private to grow up, and stopped outside the door of private's room. He knocked on the door._

_"Private, its six thirty and Jenkins had informed me that you have not reported to the mess for breakfast." Despite Private's privileged household, he was anything but spoiled. He had to be up at five o'clock sharp each morning, and received an hour of training, three hours on weekends, after that, school or strategy lessons. His room contained a book shelf, a desk, and a steel bunk bed. His few toys were arranged on a single shelf, and he was only permitted to play with them during certain hours._

_"Private?" Kowalski knocked again. Neither knock received any reply. The door was locked, but Kowalski soon picked it and opened the door. Private had his head buried under his pillow._

_"Private, I am ordering you to get out of bed right now." _

_The mound of blankets shifted, his demand met with a moan that slightly resembled, "I don't want to wake up." Kowalski sighed irritably, and dragged the child from his bed. However, as soon as he let go of the boy, he jumped up with the speed of a cheetah and dived back under the covers._

_"Private!" Kowalski marched over to his bed, "I don't understand why you're so tired." Private then found himself once again grabbed by his pyjama shirt, and dragged down to the training room, where he was dunked headfirst into the pool, which Kowalski always kept filled with cold water._

_Private spluttered as he tried to stay afloat, despite the shock of the sudden cold. Kowalski knew the move was dangerous, the shock of sudden cold water could put a child of his age into shock, but Kowalski had been woken up with colder water during Skipper's surprise interrogation drills, and the boy needed to be ready for anything. He wouldn't go down the way his father did._

_"Are you awake now, Private?" Kowalski asked._

_"Y… Yes sir!" Private spluttered, despite the shock, "Pull me out!" Kowalski immediately reached in and pulled the nine year old out of the pool, who dropped to the ground coughing and trying not to cry. Kowalski had been quite firm about the fact he was never to show weakness, and often punished him for crying, which always made him cry more. _

_"Now, Private, were you up all night playing Spacewar! again?" Kowalski asked, noting the dark circles under the boy's eyes. Private looked up at him, terrified. _

_"Yes, sir." He answered._

_"You're lying," Kowalski barked, "Private, I am a superior officer, you do not lie to me."_

_"I wasn't lying sir." Kowalski tossed him a towel, which the boy immediately wrapped himself in, shivering._

_"Yes you were," Kowalski snatched the towel away, holding it just out of reach of the shivering boy, "Why are you so tired?"_

_"I had a nightmare." Private finally answered._

_"I instructed you to wake me if you have a nightmare." Kowalski answered._

_"I… I…" Private stuttered, "I thought it was a nightmare, but when I woke up, the screaming was still there." It was then that Kowalski realized what Private had heard. He now remembered that, for a few minutes, he'd left the door of his soundproofed office open. Private must have heard part of the interrogation. Kowalski didn't press the boy for anymore answers._

_"Come on, Private, I'll make you some pancakes."_

Private grimaced slightly at the memories. Overhearing part of Kowalski's conversation with Ms Kitka as well as some comments made by Jones when he stormed out of the office were some of the first times he'd become suspicious about Kowalski, though he'd been too young to understand what he was really saying. "I don't suppose you considered sending me back to my mother?" Private pointed out.

"I tried, but by then, it was too late," Kowalski stated, "I had set things up so that she was declared unfit to care for you due to alcoholism. After I took you… by the time I realized I couldn't care for you… she'd become what I'd framed her for. I couldn't give you back."

"You could have at least let her visit me." Kowalski managed to look even guiltier than he already did, looking about as emotional as Private had ever seen him.

"I could have." Kowalski managed to look even guiltier than he already did, "I didn't."

**April 2nd 1959**

_"How is she, Maurice?" Kowalski asked. Maurice looked up from the tables he was cleaning._

_"Not good, sir." He replied, looking at the woman at the bar with a concerned expression, "She's been wearing the dress for several weeks." 'The Dress' was the low cut Hawaiian dress she'd worn the night Skipper had died; the blood stains were still there. Kowalski had asked Maurice to keep an eye on her, he never asked why, but Kowalski knew the guy had suspicions. He was just too smart to voice them._

_"I'll talk to her."_

_"Oh," Lola looked up drowsily from her drink, "'s you." Kowalski took the glass from her, moving it out of reach, "Hey! What's the big idea!" she made a grab for the drink._

_"Stop this, Lola. You need to move on." Kowalski moved the drink further out of reach._

_"Nee' to move on." She scoffed drunkenly, "I can't move on."_

_"Don't be ridiculous. That was three years ago. We all miss him, but you can't spend the rest of your life thinking it's 1956."_

_"Ha," Lola seemingly ignored him, "Probably didn' love me anyway. I wa' probably just like that reporter b***."_

_"Lola, of course he loved you," this attack on Skipper's honour was not something he could take lightly. The nerve!_

_"Well he's gone now." Lola was beginning to nod off until Kowalski shook her awake._

_"I know you loved him…"_

_"Wha' do you know about love," she turned to face Kowalski, but nearly fell backwards off her stool, Kowalski catching her just in time, "That Doris girl 'a yours…"_

_"Don't you dare…"_

_"…Probably just playin' with her too…" This was crossing the line. Before Kowalski could stop himself, he'd already slapped the woman across the face._

_"You know nothing about Doris or Marlene!"_

_"No, you' just got your rose tinted glasses on. You and your filthy money."_

_"It's my 'filthy money' that prevents you from becoming destitute."_

_"Just keep tellin' yourself that. Guess that's what you tell Will," Lola noticed the surprised expression Kowalski was trying to hide, "Oh, ya didn' tell him about his poor old mother," Lola rolled her eyes, "Nah, he might get a half decent perspective on the world and up an' leave. No wonder your momma killed herself, I'll bet she knew what kind of a messed up psycho you'd become, an' couldn't stand ta see it…" This was crossing the line._

_"Lola, I am extremely tolerant with you. Until a few minutes ago, I wanted to help you, if only because Skipper was a good friend of mine, but since you hate me so much and don't want my help, well, I guess you can go without. Maybe cutting off the money will stop you from spending it on drink."_

_"Yeah, run away, ya coward. See if I care. I can still make my way ya know," Lola tried to stand up and demonstrate that she could dance. Instead she stumbled, grabbing for the stool but missing. This time, Kowalski let her fall._

* * *

"I cut off her funds and never spoke to her again. Unfortunately, that only made her worse."

"Then what are you doing here?" Private asked.

"I…" Kowalski paused, his thoughts going back to the past, "Skipper used to come here, as Skipper, once a year for a drink to remember Manfridi and Johnson. Now, I come here to remember him."

"Oh cruel irony," Private commented sarcastically.

"I also came to investigate who is giving her money. I was told that a couple of months ago she started receiving $50,000 a year in envelopes sent from random locations in Chicago, the bills untraceable…"

"PJ!" A familiar voice shouted, "PJ, you naughty boy, you should have told me you were coming!" Julian walked up to the table. Private turned around. Julian always called Private PJ. When Private asked why, he'd said it stood for Private Jr. When Private asked who Private Sr. was, Kowalski had intervened.

"Hey, Julian!" Private greeted, though probably due to the conversation he and Kowalski were having, his tone lacked the usual joy.

"What's dat thingy you've got in your hand?" Julian had noticed Private hurriedly stuff his hand, and whatever it was holding, that had previously been under the table, into his pocket, "You cheeky monkey! Are you trying to sneakily record some of my stunning secret whistle?"


	20. Chapter 20

**June 5th 1976**

"Private!" Kowalski exclaimed. Private bit his lip, realizing what Julian had seen, "Give me the tape."

"No." Private replied defiantly. He stood up from his chair, no longer hiding the tape recorder. Kowalski drew his gun, pointing it at Private. The nightclub erupted into screams at the sight of the fire arm. Manfredi and Johnson merely stood staring at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Give me the tape." Private shook his head, taking a few steps back, the tape recorder in his hand. Kowalski then altered his target, aiming at the tape. Immediately, Private moved the device, holding it in front of his heart.

"Sorry, Kowalski, I'm not letting you shoot the tape like you did in '44," Kowalski stared at him, astonished.

"How did you… Why…"

"I overheard my professor saying that you had something to do with the Penguins. There was an ad campaign about the city, saying if you knew anything, no matter how small, about the Penguins, you should contact the Captain Jones, though you probably know him better as Private…"

**_June 3rd 1976_**

_"So you overheard someone sayin' your guardian had somethin' to do with the Penguins?" Lieutenant Rodger Park clarified._

_"Yes, I don't know if it would be any use to you."_

_"What did you say your name was, kid? Just for the record, I like to make sure my notes are correct."_

_"William Grant."_

_"William Grant?" a man with an English accent asked, poking his head out of his office._

_"Yes?" _

_"Come in," The man motioned for him to enter his office. Private complied. Once the door was shut, the man continued, "I guess you're the Private now."_

_"Um… how do you know all this?" Private asked suspiciously, "Who are you?"_

_"Captain Timothy Jones. You're my replacement."_

_"Replacement?"_

_"Yes, I was the Penguin's Private back when your father was alive."_

_"The Penguins? My father had nothing to do with…"_

_"So K'walski never told you," Private shook his head, "That is rather like K'walski."_

_"What has K'walski got to do with the Penguins?" Private was honestly confused at this point._

_"Well…" Then Captain Jones stopped, and changed his mind, "No, I'll let him tell you the story, he'd do a better job than me," The older man reached into his desk taking out a tape recorder, "Ask him about the Penguins," Private Sr. handed him the tape recorder, "Just make sure you get it all on tape…"_

_"You're asking me to record K'walski?!" Private exclaimed incredulously, "I'm not going to record my own family without a decent explanation."_

_"Alright, the next time you see him, ask about the Penguins. I know you're already curious. If he admits, I win, you record him. If he asks you if you've been reading too many detective novels, you win, and you find a decent excuse to back out of the conversation. Fair?"_

"Private?! You aren't going to…?" Kowalski exclaimed,

"You made a full confession," Private replied, trying to keep the waver out of his voice, "and I'm going to give it to Captain Jones." Kowalski's gun was trained on the tape, despite it's close proximity to several vital organs.

"If you think I won't shoot because you're my ward, you're wrong," Kowalski threatened, "and you wouldn't be the first."

"Doris? She dived in front of the bullet meant for her father. It killed both of them," Private answered. Captain Jones had given him a few 'spoilers' just to make sure he went through with it, "I don't think that counts. You nearly shot yourself the moment her pulse stopped."

"Give me the tape, Private." Kowalski growled, his gun never wavering from the tape. The look in his eyes was one Private knew well. It was the look he always had when he'd leave his soundproofed study, and a few minutes later, a large, vaguely human shaped object under a sheet would be taken from the room.

"No."

* * *

**June 5th 1986**

"So what happened next?" Private Percival Nelson asked, gripping the edge of his bunk with anticipation. William Grant, code named Skipper, stared off into space, lost in the past as his hand ghosted over a long gone wound, "Did he…"

"Do I look dead to you?"

"No."

"He shot me in the shoulder. When I still didn't drop the tape, he had no choice but to run. Captain Jones and his men were already entering the building," Skipper replied bluntly.

"So what happened to K'walski?" Private asked.

"I'm right here," the scientist looked up from his work.

"I meant the evil K'walski," Private clarified.

"Jones and his men managed to seriously wound him, but he hotwired one of the cars in the parking lot and got away," Skipper took another sip of his coffee, "I haven't seen him or even heard of him since."

"Oh." Private looked down at his feet. Private was beginning to regret asking to hear the story. He'd wanted to know where his leader came from, but he'd expected that he'd say something less violent.

"Skipper?" Kowalski looked up from his circuit boards.

"Yeah?"

"I've got one question: why did you name us after the Penguins if you hated them so much?"

"It was the heat of battle," Skipper replied, "they were the first names I could think of," Skipper cast a glance over his team, "I guess you reminded me of the story." Skipper had to admit, his team was eerily similar. His greatest fear, though he would never admit it, was that 'like father, like son' would ring true for him, and that his team would be dragged down too.

"We'd never become like them." Private answered skipper's silent query.

"And I swore I'd never do a lot of things, most of them I probably did yesterday," Skipper countered, "I always thought what the original Penguins did was horrific and inexcusable, but now that years have passed, and we've essentially taken their place in Department D, I'm starting to almost understand them. There have been a lot of times, especially with Dr Blowhole Jr., that I've almost made the same decisions." The room fell silent.

Suddenly, Skipper stood up, walking towards the ladder.

"Just because I've told you my family's horrific backstory," Skipper smirked, breaking the silence, "Doesn't mean you get you out of morning training."

"Skippah!"

"Come on all of you, up to the training ground!"

"A'right." Rico muttered as he climbed the ladder. Skipper looked on proudly as his men passed him on the way to the rooftop training ground. Before Skipper could follow his men the phone in Kowalski's lab began to ring. Skipper answered the phone, "Hi Agent Jones…A mission?… A join and destroy?... No, we'll take it."

The End


End file.
